


Scherben bringen Glück

by Sangreal



Series: Lacunaverse [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anachronistic Weddings, Caleb has bad luck with dinner parties, Deirta Thelyss's A+ Parenting, Deirta Wins Award For Worst Mom In The World, Deleted Scenes, Dialogue Heavy, Epilogue, Fluff, Happy Ending, Jester is a menace, Just a pinch of angst, Kryn Folktales, M/M, Minor Character Death, More Luxon shenanigans, No Teapots Were Harmed, Reincarnation Drama, Shamelessly Stealing from Aristotle, Trans Character, Who needs guard dogs when you have cats, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27891466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangreal/pseuds/Sangreal
Summary: They knew all the ugly things, the broken pieces between them.  They knew these things and more, and they were better for it, because as Caleb had explained, standing in an ankle deep pile of shattered pottery, their shards bring luck.Epilogue and Deleted Scenes for Lacuna!
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Lacunaverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042305
Comments: 50
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Y'all! I'll be dumping deleted scenes/requests/expansion stuff in here. I'm not planning on updating quite as religiously, but I do plan on updating! :) These won't be posted in any particular order, so timeline notes will appear in each chapter. If you have anything you'd like to see in here, hit me up! Unbetaed, concrit welcome, kudos and comments loved! <3 
> 
> First chapter takes place immediately after Ch. 10 of Lacuna. Unlettered_Heathen, this Ch. touches on most of what you were curious about, I think? 
> 
> CW: A trans character is briefly misgendered and deadnamed. The trans character is a man, but is reincarnated in a body that was AFAB. I'm not trying to conflate being trans with the reincarnation experience, nor making any generalized comments about how characters might react to being reincarnated in bodies that are significantly different than the ones they died in. But it's something I wanted to touch on on an individual level because I explore a few consequences of reincarnation in this chapter that canon hasn't addressed.  
> A consensual romantic kiss is shared between a (reincarnated) underaged teen and an adult who were previously in a relationship.
> 
> German translations at the end of the chapter because some might be a pinch spoilery, but a lot of them can be pretty easily deduced in context. :)

A day.

Essek wasn’t sure what time it was. Or how long he had been asleep. He only knew that he had never slept so soundly in his life, and that when Caleb’s fingers brushed his bangs away from his forehead, he was almost tempted to keep his eyes closed and dose a little longer

“Good morning Schlafmütze.” Essek did peek an eye open at the murmured greeting. Caleb’s face was half obscured by a fall of frizzy hair, and his skin was wrinkled from sleep. A smear of the shimmer from his cheeks had somehow made its way to Caleb’s, and Essek thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. 

“Morning.” Essek’s mouth was dry and fuzzy, and far too much of his body hurt for him to feel as sated and content as he felt. 

“How did you sleep?”

It was, quite possibly, and with absolutely no hyperbole, the best sleep of his entire life. But he wasn’t sure how to say that without sounding overwrought. “Very well,” he said instead, “You?”

“Mmmmh, I could get used to this,” Caleb said, his body stretching taut under the comforter. Essek tangled their legs back together once he settled. They kissed in the soft morning light, hidden under the safety and warmth of the comforter, the shift of skin against skin lazy and fond. Essek inched his way down Caleb’s body, leaving little marks in his wake, and-

“ _Hey Essek! Is Caleb with you? Are you naked? Did you have crazy awesome sex last night? Everyone is looking for you guys, we’re going-”_

Essek grimaced, and pushed himself back up to the head of the bed. “Yes, Jester.” 

“ _Yes what? Yes WHAT Essek? Oh. My. God. You did, didn’t you? Oh gosh, this is so exciting, you guuuuuys! That is so romantic, I-”_

Essek winced, his ears ringing from Jester’s shrill, unfiltered enthusiasm. He smacked at Caleb’s shoulder when he started giggling quietly next to him. “Where are you going Jester? Your messages keep getting cut off.”

“ _We’re going to get muffins for breakfast! Do you guys want some? Or do you want to have_ passionate morning lovemaking _for breakfast?”_ Her voice dipped into something far too deep and theatric to truly be considered sensual, but he assumed that’s what she was aiming for. 

“How about you bring us back some muffins, and we’ll just meet you in a little while?”

Jester’s voice disappeared from his head, and he thought, briefly, that she was done harassing him. He was midway leaning over Caleb when her voice broke into his thoughts once more and he flopped backwards against the pillow with a groan. “ _That works! I promise I won’t scry. And I won’t tell_ anyone _. Eiiiiiiii Essek! You have to tell me all about it, okay? I’m so-”_

“Jester? Go away.”

“ _Oh, right, right, right. Okay. Will do. Have fuuuuuun!”_

Essek didn’t bother to respond, instead he pinched the bridge of his nose. He had zero doubt that at least half of the Nein had heard Jester’s side of the conversation, whether she _told_ them or not. 

Caleb had his face half buried in his pillow, with a strand of hair stuck in the corner of his mouth and red stubble just roughening his jaw. His shoulders shook in silent laughter. He climbed into Caleb’s lap and kissed him soundly. “I am going to murder Jester,” He said, with absolute certainty. 

“No you’re not,” Caleb said, grinning sympathetically up at him. Essek pulled the lock of hair out of the corner of his mouth. “If you did that, who would bring us morning after muffins?”

Essek shuddered. “I could go my entire life and not need _morning after muffins_.” 

“Who said they were for you?”

Essek scoffed, “Oh, now I see where your priorities lie.”

“Ja. With breakfast.” 

“Well, it’s going to be awhile before your knight in shining armor gets here, so you’d better find something to occupy yourself with in the meantime.”

Caleb’s hands settled on his hips, “I could teach you Zemnian?”

“In a morning? That’s very impressive.”

“Call me Liebling.”

“What does it mean?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Alright, _Liebling_.” 

Caleb smiled, the slightest quirk of the corner of his mouth, and squeezed Essek's hips. "Very good. Say küss mich, Liebling." 

Essek laughed. “Does that mean what it sounds like in Common?” 

Caleb shrugged, grinning up at him and running his warm thumbs over Essek’s skin. “Say it, and find out.” 

“Küss mich, Liebling,” Essek said, indulging him. The phrase did, as it turned out, mean exactly what it sounded like in Common, and Essek found himself more inclined to devote time to continued studies of the Zemnian language. 

A month.

“Caleb!” 

Caleb was frozen like Essek had never seen him before. Staring in horror at the bodies writhing on the ground as fire slowly enveloped them. Essek wasted far too high a spell slot teleporting across the battlefield to Caleb’s side. 

“Caleb. Look at me.” He floated up, forcing himself into Caleb’s field of vision. The flames flickered in Caleb's eyes, lightless and unseeing. 

“Caleb, please. It’s me. It’s Essek. Look at me.” Shaking hands stroked Caleb’s cheeks, gently tapped his jaw, trying anything to get some sign of acknowledgement. “Caleb, it’s alright. I’m here.” Nothing. 

He dug a shard of obsidian from his spell components and nicked the back of his wrist. With a wide swing of his arm, he vaulted a mass of black energy at the burning bodies that Caleb was staring at, enveloping them in darkness. 

“There. They’re gone now. It’s alright. You’re alright. Caleb?” 

The slightest shift in his gaze, and Caleb was staring at Essek as if he’d only just noticed him. “Essek?”

“Hi there,” he said, running his fingers through Caleb’s hair. “Are you okay?”

Caleb shook his head.

Essek surveyed the battleground, but could see little past the massive gravity well. He couldn’t risk teleporting away. He didn’t know what spells Caleb had left, and he couldn’t abandon the rest of the Nein. He entwined his fingers with Caleb’s. “Hold my hand, alright? I’m not leaving.”

Caleb said nothing. Essek counted down from ten, and dispelled the dark star. 

The rest of the Nein stared at him, and at Caleb. The bodies were no longer on fire, but also were unrecognizable as anything beyond a homogenous mass of flesh and bone. 

“Ugh, gross.” Jester said. 

“Yo, what the fuck was that!” Beau said at nearly the same time. 

“Something’s wrong with Caleb, we need to get out of here!”

Caduceus was nearest to them, and put a gentle hand on Caleb’s shoulder once he had made his way over. “What’s wrong? I should be able to patch him up.”

“He just- He cast a fireball! That’s it! And then this happened!”

“Oh.” Caduceus nodded in grim understanding, “You’ll probably be a bigger help than me then.”

“Bigger help doing _what_?” 

Fjord was the next to reach them, his sword, propped against his shoulder was still stained with dark ichor. “Is he dissociating?”

Caduceus hummed in the affirmative. 

“Why?” Essek snapped, hating that everyone but him seemed to be in on what was happening to his- To Caleb. “What happened?”

“It’s the fire,” Fjord said, “Just give him a moment. He’ll snap out of it.” 

“Caleb, Liebling. It’s gone. The fire’s gone. Come back to me.”

The rest of the Nein were trickling in, forming a loose circle around them. No one was seriously injured, the fight hadn’t even been that intense, which made Essek all the more perturbed that this of all things was what he couldn’t control. Caleb’s gaze flickered sluggish over the gathering crowd, lingering longest on Veth, and back to Essek. “I’m sorry.”

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for, Caleb.” Essek held Caleb’s face in his hands, ran his thumbs over his cheeks. “You’re safe. I’m here. Your friends are here. Everything is alright.”

“No it’s not.” A whining, choked off sob shook Caleb’s shoulders. “It’s really not.”

Essek wrapped his arms around Caleb and squeezed. He held the back of Caleb’s head when he collapsed against him, silently shaking. “You’re safe, Liebling.”

“Ich habe sie emordet.”

“Caleb, I don’t understand.” A glance around the group showed similar incomprehension on everyone else's faces too. Even Beau, who to Essek’s knowledge spoke the most languages of any of them, was shrugging helplessly. Caleb did not respond, just shook quietly against Essek’s shoulder. Essek held him close, gently shushing him and rubbing his back. “Can I tell you a story?” Essek asked softly.

Caleb nodded. Urged on by Caduceus’s gently herding, the rest of the Nein dispersed once more to clean their wounds and their weapons, save for Veth, who lingered close by, quietly watching them with a sad, guarded expression.

“There is a Kryn legend I could share, I do not ascribe to legends, but I know you are fond of them. Ah, Volksmärchen, I think your books call them, right?” 

Caleb nodded again, exhaling harshly. 

“Right. Yes. Well.” Essek cleared his throat.

“Long ago, the Spider Queen ruled the drow, and kept them as her slaves, and did not allow them to love anything, or anyone but her. She trapped them in her web, and wove them as puppets in the tapestry of her hateful schemes. They forgot what it meant to be drow, and knew only the darkness of the Spider Queen. There was no day, and there was no night. All the drow knew under her rule was hopelessness and despair.

“When the Lord of Storms smote her upon the rocks, and she was vanquished to beyond the veil, the drow were left to tear away the cobwebs that had blinded them for so long. Finally free of the Spider Queen’s clutches, they found their way back to the surface world. But they had been gone for so long that they forgot what light was, and when they beheld it, they cried out in pain.

“‘Why do you cry?’ asked the Light.

“‘Because you hurt us,’ said the drow

“‘I do not wish to hurt you, my friends. Wait for me, when the sun sets I shall find you once more,’ said the Light.

“And so the drow did, cowering in caves and under the canopies of the Vermaloc until the sun grew weary in the sky and settled beyond the mountains for its evening rest.

“‘Are you well, my friends?’ the Light asked, shining down upon them from their home in Catha.

“The drow were frightened, and hesitant to risk more pain, and so did not come out from the shadows which they had called home for so long. ‘You are still so bright,’ they said, ‘surely we will be blinded by your brilliance.’

“This saddened the Light, for they wished so desperately to share their knowledge with the drow, who had been hidden from them for so long. ‘Very well,’ the Light said, ‘I cannot turn Catha away, for she is my friend also, but I shall cast a spell on her such that she is only fully awake for a short while, and she shall sleep fully for a few days each month to grant you a respite.’

“‘Thank you, Light,’ the drow said. ‘You are kind in a world that has not shown us kindness.’

“And so the Light and the drow became dear friends, and they spoke fondly on the nights that Catha dozed. But then the night came when Catha’s light was extinguished fully, and the Light was gone, and the drow were heartbroken and fearful without their friend. So when Catha awoke, they cried out to the Light once more. ‘Oh, Light. When the night was long and dark, we feared you might never return, and our lives would fall into eternal darkness once more.’

“‘Please do not be afraid, my friends,” said the Light. ‘The next time Catha sleeps, I will leave a reminder for you, a sign especially for your clever eyes, so used to the deep, deep dark. A promise that the Light will never abandon you.’

“So when Catha next slept, the drow searched the heavens for their sign. And they found it in the distant red light of a tiny moon, so faint that the day dwellers might miss it were they not looking. But the drow had keen sight in the dark, from so long suffering under the Spider Queen’s yoke, and they sought out their friend the Light most earnestly.

“‘See?’ the Light said softly, from the dim glow of Ruidis. ‘I will not abandon you, my friends. You do not need to live in fear any longer.’ So the drow did not fear.

“The Light has not abandoned the drow since, whether in the sun, or in Catha, or in Ruidis, it is always in the sky, waiting for them. And in knowing the love of the Light, the drow were finally, truly free of the Spider Queen.”

Essek trailed off, waiting for Caleb to respond. When no reaction came, he added as an afterthought, “Um. The end.”

Caleb sluggishly pushed himself off of Essek’s shoulder, and the look haunting his face was pained and tired. He smiled, a halfhearted little smile. “You are a very good storyteller, did you know that?”

Essek laughed, gently running his fingers through Caleb’s hair. “It lacks some of the poetry it has in the original Undercommon, but I think I got the point across.”

Caleb sighed, a weary, heavy thing that had his shoulders sagging with it, and he wiped the back of his hand across his tear stained cheek. Essek carefully lowered himself back down to his proper height. “How are you?”

“Tired. Very tired.”

“Do you think you can get your tower set up? Otherwise I can teleport us to Nicodranas. Just say the word and I’ll tell the others what we’re doing.”

“I can get it up,” Caleb said wearily. 

Essek tried not to snicker. It took Caleb a long, awkward moment to figure out why. He grimaced. “Ja, ja. I am hilarious.”

“You are,” Essek agreed, and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll tell the others.”

Once the group had been reassembled, and the portal to the tower shimmered before them, Essek slipped his hand into Caleb’s and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s get you to your room, shall we?”

“Ah. Do you think we could go to yours instead?” Caleb said evasively, “I think I would rather be there right now.” 

Essek had never actually seen beyond Caleb’s sitting room, spartan as it was. Caleb was always full of excuses, and Essek never pressed. He figured someday, maybe, he would find out what Caleb kept hidden in the dark corners of his tower. Or maybe, someday, he might move in with Essek, and banish those dark corners entirely. In the meantime, Essek had no problem sharing at Caleb's whim, “Alright. We can do that.”

A year.  
  


“Essek, could I interrupt you for a moment? I would like to ask you something.” Caleb lingered at the doorway to the lab, hunched and not quite meeting Essek's gaze. He had a peculiar, nervous energy about him, and was, for the first time in months, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt as if tempted to scratch. 

“Of course, anything,” Essek said. He pushed the beacon away from his work space and gestured to the stool at his side. Caleb sat upon it like it was made of glass. “Is everything alright?”

“Uh. Yes. Yes, of course. We have been through so much. And there is still much to do. We have done good work, cleaning up my country. But there is a vacuum that needs to be filled, if we are to keep our progress. I have spoken with the king, he is willing to offer you a special pardon if you accept the position of Annex to the Archmage of Civil Influence.”

Essek wasn't sure what to make of that request. He had met Astrid on handful of occasions without the two of them actively trying to murder one another, but she was a sharp, conniving woman, and he didn't trust her for an instant. He would not be surprised in the slightest if she slid a knife between his ribs the second he wasn't paying attention. “Caleb, I have absolutely no desire to work for Astrid. I know you two have history. And I know you still have feelings for-”

Caleb cut him off. “It’s not going to be Astrid, Essek. I have accepted the position.”

Essek stared at him. “You said you wanted nothing to do with the Assembly. You wanted to teach. We were going to teach dunamancy together.”

“I know, I know. I _don’t_ want it, but. I think if I have you there, helping me… it would be better if I took the position than if she did. For the country. For everyone.”

“You didn’t even think to talk to me about it first?”

“Well… um. No.”

Essek scowled, trying not to let the sudden spur of indignation he felt drag the conversation into an argument. Essek was always expected to confer with Caleb. Was always expected to keep Caleb apprised of his plans. The opposite only seemed to be true on the rare occasion that it suited Caleb, but something was already bothering Caleb, and not knowing what it was, Essek was reluctant to push. “I feel like this should really have been one of those ‘talk about it as a team’ kind of decisions…” 

Caleb looked at his feet, at Essek’s feet, at the beacon, at the wall. Restless eyes darting anywhere but Essek’s face. “You do not approve?”

“I’m just- I don’t know what to think. What happens if I refuse the position? Will the pardon be forfeit? Am I going to be banished? Sentenced to death by a second country?” He'd move to Tal'dorei, alone, before he'd let that happen. Say goodbye to Caleb, to the Nein, to Wildemount. It would be a regrettable, but undeniably just end to this chapter of his life.

Caleb had the decency to sound guilty. “I… no. I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so, or you know not?”

“I won’t let that happen!” Caleb said defensively, “Both your testimony and your actions have been integral in the reformation of the Assembly. The king would be mad to ignore that.”

Essek sighed. “Would I be granted citizenship?"

Caleb's gaze snapped to his face, keen and searching. “...do you want that?”

“It would certainly make my life easier if I’m expected to work here permanently.” He had no illusions that he would be welcomed with open arms. But not wasting spells on hiding every day would be a welcome change. 

Caleb nodded emphatically. He stood, taking Essek's hands in his own, squeezing a little too tightly in his enthusiasm. “I will petition for it. I will make it happen if that is what you want.”

“I don’t know.” Essek sighed, looking at the beacon. He was once more being asked to put it aside for the betterment of others. Being selfless was exhausting. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you. I, uh. That actually wasn’t the only question I had though. I know that wasn't... Was not necessarily the conversation you hoped to have. I did not mean for it to go that way. I would like to ask something a little more pleasant. I hope. It is more pleasant in my opinion, anyway, but please do not feel pressured to-"

Essek took pity on him and cut him off, “Yes, alright. I'm listening.”

If anything, Caleb looked even more unsettled. “I… I need to focus on rebuilding my home. And I’d like for you to help me. If you’re willing.”

“You just said that..?”

“Yes, no. I’m sorry, I had this conversation all planned out in my head, and it is not keeping to the script. So I am improvising a bit. Even if we do not end up working together, I want to stay with you, I want to live with you. I want to build a home with you, something for you, and for me. Just the two of us. And Frumpkin, of course. But I have already spoken to him about this, and he is in agreement." 

Essek frowned in confusion, unsure how that was any different from what they were already doing, or why reiterating it should leave Caleb so uncharacteristically nervous.

“Essek, I have learned so much from you. You are the most brilliant man I know. You make me happy. You make me laugh. You support me when I am low. You are beautiful and funny and _kind_ when you allow yourself to be. And it is such a gift to see how much you have grown since I first met you. And how much you have helped me grow too. And I... I don’t think I want to let that go. I don’t want to let _you_ go.

“I could continue rambling about how much I adore you all day. But I do not think that would help my case. So, um, Essek-” he bowed his head for a long moment, letting out a bracing, careful sigh between pursed lips, before looking back up at Essek. “-willst du mich heiraten?” 

Essek wracked his brain, working through the translation in his head, fighting past the screaming of his nerves and the pounding of his heart. “That means. Marry… ...you?” He asked, voice tight, not confident enough in his Zemnian to presume such a question. 

“Ja. Sehr gut,” Caleb said, nodding restlessly, ”Um. Verin told me Kryn don’t use engagement rings, but…” He pulled out a small box and offered it to Essek, who took it like it was the most fragile thing in the world. Inside was a platinum band, with a blue moon and a red sun inlaid. 

“It is a ring of tether essence,” Caleb explained, his voice wavering, “If you want it. If not, I understand, so please don’t feel like-”

Essek stood and threw his arms around Caleb’s shoulders. “Ja, mein Liebling,” he said, smiling so hard it hurt, “Ich will.”

Kryn first marriages were massive, multi-day affairs, particularly among the High Dens, which were as much about flaunting superfluous displays of wealth and religious conviction as they were celebrations of love. Neither Essek nor Caleb had the finances, nor the family to sustain such a ceremony even if they had the desire to. 

King Dwendal had extended informal permission for their union, but between the fickle political tensions with Xhorhas, and Essek’s dubious history, he refused to publicly sanction such a marriage. So even the intimate, agnostic ceremonies of the Empire of which Caleb spoke so fondly, were barred from them.

Instead, Caleb and Essek had taken their favorite pieces of each culture, and exported them to a small ceremony officiated by a firbolg funeral director in the home of a high end courtesan. It seemed appropriate, all things considered.

Verin had either not gotten the memo, or had gleefully discarded it in favor of an embarrassingly large trunk full of traditional Kryn wedding gifts for Caleb. Essek wasn't even certain how he had gotten the trunk _to_ Nicodranas, much less the Lavish Chateau. Verin spoke of stocking the chest with his own savings, hedging around admitting that their mother wanted no part in the gift. Though, to Essek’s perverse delight, Verin had stolen some of their mother’s favorite china for Caleb’s Polterabend.

It was a singular pleasure to witness Verin so gleefully shatter the expensive dinner set, standing shoulder to shoulder with Veth and Yeza, who helped Luc smash halfling sized coffee mugs with singular enthusiasm, and Caduceus, who seemed to be preemptively officiating a funeral of one as he contemplated dropping a teapot on the ground. 

The Nein had made a point of introducing Essek to the disparate gaggle of friends and acquaintances that had been invited to Nicodranas for the wedding. He had wanted to disguise himself, to meet them all from behind the safety of a mask. Caleb had gently reminded him that would defeat the purpose. They were kind, the Nein's friends, if a bit peculiar, and Essek was privately ashamed to have mistrusted them. 

Caleb begged Essek to wear white for the ceremony, knowing full well the implications, citing Zemnian tradition. Essek had agreed only on the condition that Caleb was similarly garbed in traditional Xhorhassian purple. This was not so great a sacrifice on Caleb’s part as had been Essek’s, but it was indulgent nonetheless, and thinking of Caleb clad in the deep, vibrant color struck a surprisingly proprietary chord in Essek. Yasha promised to weave them flower crowns in each other's colors, which wasn't anyone's traditions but the Nein's. 

Verin kept him company the morning of the ceremony while he was inexplicably banned from seeing Caleb. Yasha wove flowers into his hair and Jester painted intricate silvery designs on his face and hands. She had never seen the traditional Kryn patterns that spoke of devotion, safety, and luck, and so she made up her own, telling Essek what each brush stroke meant to her. She painted one small dick on the inside of each of his wrists, for _virility_ , she had said, giggling with Yasha and Verin while Essek blushed. 

Essek had invited two people to the wedding, Verin and Yussa. The only other person he felt was within his rights to invite was perhaps Marion, but she was already accounted for on multiple fronts. Yussa refused to commit ahead of time, but caused an uproar when he teleported right into the middle of the lobby of the Chateau with a bottle of pre-Divergence wine that he had, apparently, found preserved inside the Heirloom Sphere. 

The ceremony itself was taken largely from Kryn customs. Though Luc insisted on pelting everyone with flowers, it was more to entertain him than appease Caleb’s sense of tradition, and as his attendant, Verin handed Essek off to Caleb, because they were already of the same den and there was little else to exchange. 

Essek had been to few weddings, and so struggled to explain the motifs on the woven belts for the handfasting. Only that they were to symbolize the past, present, and future, one for each partner, and one for each den. He was nearly moved to tears when Caduceus produced six shimmering ribbons, each with a different, impossibly delicate pattern imbued into the weave with shimmering magic. Caduceus quietly admitted to forgoing the seventh belt, because he thought Den Nein only really needed one. 

Their arms bound together, grasping the beacon between them, they exchanged their vows. The words were not profound, nor words they had not shared before in their lows and their highs and the ebb and flow between. They knew all the ugly things, the broken pieces between them. They knew these things and more, and they were better for it, because as Caleb had explained, standing in an ankle deep pile of shattered pottery the night before, their shards bring luck. 

Once Caduceus had freed their hands and taken the beacon from them, it was so easy and so small a thing to slide Caleb’s ring off of his left hand, and slip it on his right, and for Caleb to do the same for him. And it was so easy and so small a thing, bathed in the light of the Luxon, to lean in and kiss the man he loved.

A decade.

The Nein had disbanded as an adventuring party years ago. It had not happened all at once, but in small increments, until one day apart turned to two, turned to a week, to a month, to gathering together for holidays and special occasions when they were able. 

Caleb had been given the estates of his predecessor, but they never lived there. He had gutted the tower on Ambition's Call to a hollow shell, and kept the tenants of the estate at arms length, and the property in the countryside was left to molder. 

Instead he and Essek had bought a terraced home in the north end of the Tangles, that was far more than what they required, but much more modest than wizards of similar station typically maintained. It was a quiet home, save for the occasional visitor. Essek floated, and Frumpkin padded on cat's paws, leaving only Caleb's footsteps to haunt the halls on most days.

The top floor of the home was divided in equal parts into a library and laboratory, real ones, stocked with real books and real equipment. It was where they spent much of their time, when they were not attending to government summons. And it was where Essek found Caleb, snuggled into a sofa with a book and Frumpkin in his lap. 

“Caleb? Are you free for a moment?”

“Of course, Schatzi. What is it?” He looked at Essek out of the corner of his eye, unable to turn to the doorway more fully without disturbing Frumpkin. 

Essek floated over to the couch and ran his fingers fondly through Caleb’s two-toned hair. Caleb had been self conscious of the silver coming in at his temples and on his chin, but Essek thought the contrast was incredibly attractive. He lifted Caleb’s legs and slotted himself underneath them. “I was approached today by the headmaster of the shelter for homeless girls. She didn’t know where else to turn, I was the only drow she knew of.”

Caleb slipped a marker into his book, and placed it on the coffee table, turning instead to Frumpkin to occupy his hands. “Alright?”

“She has an eleven year old there who was sent to her from another organization in Zadash when she became too much for them to handle. The girl has been complaining about her dreams. She claims she’s a drow, that her _dreams_ told her so. The headmaster wants to know what to do with her. Claims that she’s nearly uncontrollable.”

“And you think that she is reborn?” Caleb asked, cocking his head. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what else it could be, but I don’t know how it could have happened either.” Essek had spent long hours researching other explanations for the dreams, and had come up with nothing satisfactory save for memory manipulation. Which, if that were the case, was almost more disturbing than spontaneous anamnesis in the middle of the Empire. 

“What do you want to do?” 

He sighed. “Go see her, at least. I don’t know much about anamnesis, but I suppose I know more than anyone else outside the Dynasty.”

"Alright," Caleb said, gently plucking Frumpking from his lap. The cat yowled his displeasure and nearly at once, both Caleb and Essek offered him an apologetic croon. "Would you like some company?"

"If you're not busy, I would appreciate that immensely."  
  


The Dragonheart Home for Girls was a far cry from the pristine cathedrals dedicated to the platinum dragon. At one point, Essek imagined, it must have been an impressive structure, but time and disrepair had left it sagging under its own weight. The headmaster was likewise a tired, hunched woman with grey hair tied up in a wilting bun on top of her head, who tried to project an air of authority that was lessened by her preternatural slouch. 

The headmaster took them through the cramped halls to a dormitory, pointing out this girl or that as they passed, with positive words for each, which made it all the more peculiar that she seemed to have nothing but warnings for them regarding Katerina, the girl they would be visiting. Her mood shifted dramatically into something cautious and pained as she stopped outside a locked door and fiddled with the keys on her belt. She encouraged Caleb to wait in the hall while introductions were made. And if Katerina was in a good mood, perhaps he could meet her after Essek made his assessment. Caleb raised an eyebrow, but at Essek's nod, didn’t argue.

The door unlocked to reveal a dormitory with bunks from wall to wall, that smelled like… Essek couldn’t quite place the smell. Something equal parts musty and floral. The room was empty save for a waif of a girl with olive skin and black hair cropped in a short, uneven shock that looked as if she'd taken shears to her own head. Clad in a garish patchwork of a dress that was too large and fell off of one shoulder, she was sullenly unravelling the hem of a scarf. 

The headmaster smiled tightly and gestured to the girl with a stilted, uncomfortable flick of her wrist. “And this _lovely_ lady is Katerina. Katerina, I have someone who’d like to meet you.” 

Essek lifted his hand to wave, but was interrupted when Katerina shouted, “I told you that’s not my name, and I’m not a _lady_!” 

The headmaster cleared her throat. “Right. Well,” she shot Essek a sort of ‘godspeed’ look, and made to take her leave with all haste. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

Essek sat down on the opposite bunk, the weathered springs squealing loudly under his weight. “Hello. Can I ask how you’d prefer I address you? My name is Essek.” 

“Shadowhand! What are you doing here?”

“You know me?” Essek asked, frowning in confusion.

“You look different than I remember, but I recognize your face.”

“What’s your name?”

“Gwylyss, and I’m a _boy_ , but that BITCH-” he shouted this word loud enough that it could, no doubt, be heard down the hall and rattled in Essek’s ears, “-won’t listen to me.”

Essek’s blood ran cold. Gwylyss Llurian. Assassins and infiltrators were often consecuted in honor and recognition of their service. They very, very, _very_ rarely had the opportunity to take advantage of the honor. Gwylyss had been listed as missing in action, along with his partner Thuron almost twelve years prior. Essek hadn’t spared the loss a second thought, especially after the beacon magically reappeared in Rosohna in a bright pink satchel.

Gwylyss rubbed his forehead, grimacing in what seemed like pain. “Shadowhand, what’s going on? My memories are all messed up. I can’t remember how I got here.”

What was Essek supposed to say to a question like that? How was he supposed to explain to an eleven year old that he had been a disposable asset who had not been mourned by a Shadowhand who had been responsible for his death in all but the most direct sense? "I- You died, Gwylyss. You were reborn. You are experiencing anamnesis, your dreams are memories of your past life.”

“How?"

“I’m not certain. Do you remember how you died?”

Gwylyss shook his head.

“You were here, in the Empire. You were trying to find a beacon. Do you remember what a beacon is?"

Gwylyss shook his head.

"Do you have a family, Gwylyss?” 

Gwylyss stared up at him, his lip curled in incredulity. “I live in a fucking orphanage, what do you think?”

Essek winced. Right. “Of course. Um, listen. I don’t… I don’t actually have any first hand experience helping people through their anamnesis, but I’d like to try, if you’re willing.”

“What does that mean?”

Essek had no idea what that meant. He had no idea what went into counseling anamnesis cases. It was _not_ one of his specialties. “Well…” He said, as much to stall as anything, “I could come by a few times a week to talk with you, teach you how to meditate? Hopefully help you remember things slowly and safely.”

Gwylyss over-acted like he was considering the offer, tapping his chin and staring at the bunk above him. He looked ridiculous. (Children were ridiculous). “Mmmh… No.”

“...No?”

“Nah.” He hoisted himself off the bed and paced the space between them, restlessly peeking out the window, inspecting Essek with a shrewd intensity that had Essek glaring in return, stalking over to the door and pressing his ear up against it as if he were trying to eavesdrop on whomever lingered outside. “Get me out of here, and then we can talk,” he stage-whispered, “I’m tired of being bounced from shelter to shelter.”

“Gwylyss, you don’t have family in Xhorhas either. I could get you to the border, but there would be nowhere for you to go beyond that.” Nevermind Essek doubted even his political clout with the Empire would protect him if he was caught within eyesight of the border. 

Gwylyss rolled his eyes and propped his hands on his hips. “I wasn’t talking about on my own, dumbass. You’re a big shot, right? Take me with you.”

“You want to stay with _me_?” Essek laughed at the absurdity of the thought.

“Yeah. Then we can talk about your annanesis shit or whatever. And Iiii’ll be living in the lap of luxury,” he said with a crooked, pleased little grin. 

“I’m not actually the Shadowhand anymore, Gwylyss. I live here in Rexxentrum,” Essek muttered.

“Well. Shit. You’ve still got a nicer place than this hellhole right?”

“I suppose...”

“And I want-” 

Essek held up a finger to silence Gwylyss’s evolving list of demands. “Would you just. Give me a moment? Thanks,” he said, not bothering to wait for an answer before he turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him with more force than was strictly necessary..

The headmaster and Caleb were talking quietly, but fell silent as Essek emerged. Caleb pushed himself off of the wall he had been leaning on, “Well?”

Essek sighed. “He wants to live with us.”

“He?”

“Yes, _he_." He shot the headmaster a pointed look, "His name is Gwylyss.”

Caleb cleared his throat, “Well… What do you think about that?”

“Having a child running around, getting into trouble? It sounds insufferable.” There was a reason Essek had been a lonely child. He hadn’t liked children even when he was one. They were messy, loud, impulsive… Light help him, he was describing the Nein. 

“But he needs your help, right? We have plenty of room.”

“Caleb, I don’t- We are _vastly_ ill equipped to take care of an eleven year old going through anamnesis for the first time.”

Caleb cocked his head, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there someone better equipped?”

“There are people in the Dynasty who have trained over multiple lifetimes for just this sort of thing. Normally families would take in their loved ones and support them.”

“But that’s not an option?” 

Essek glanced once more at the headmaster, who wasn't even pretending not to listen in on their conversation. He took Caleb by the arm and led him down the hall, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed. “He’s a _spy_ ," he hissed quietly, "he _has_ no family. His consecution was a formality. He wasn’t actually supposed to come back.”

Caleb went quiet, his brows knit in the way they did when he was deep in thought, analysing a problem. “What would happen to him if you left him to his own devices?”

Essek shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. He’s. He’s angry. Confused. Eventually he might remember some extremely dangerous skills and have no healthy outlet for them. But I honestly think he’s more concerned about getting out of here than he is about remembering who he was.”

“Can you blame him?”

“I…” Essek looked down the hallway, dingy and grey. At the cobwebs in the corners and the mildew on the walls. At the disapproving headmaster who refused to call the boy by his name. “No, I suppose not. But that doesn’t make us the right place for him either.” 

“Why not?”

“Because!” Essek exclaimed, irrationally defensive. “It’s. It’s you and me. And Frumpkin. Just the three of us. We talked about getting another cat. An angry, amnesiatic eleven year old spy is a far cry from another cat!”

“You could always think of it as an experiment."

“What?”

“An experiment,” Caleb repeated patiently, “It is a chance to learn something new. _Teach_ something new.”

“I don’t know the first thing about teaching a child!” Essek hissed. 

Caleb scoffed. “Essek, you’re an excellent teacher. What makes this different from the work you wanted to do at Soltryce?”

Essek ran his hands through his hair, pacing the hall in agitation. It was different because he couldn't escape. He couldn't leave this potential student at work if he was being particularly annoying. He couldn’t go home and forget about him. He couldn’t avoid nosey questions if they strayed into dangerous waters. This boy knew what he used to be. What would happen if he started remembering more?

“Essek?”

“What!” he snapped, then winced, glancing back down the hall and the headmaster still watching them with the keen eagerness of a woman who wanted desperately to pawn off a particularly difficult child and saw a couple of easy marks bickering in her halls.

“Can I tell you what I think?” Caleb asked, interrupting his less than charitable thoughts.

“What?”

“I think this has less to do with not wanting to bring a child home, and more to do with not bringing your _past_ home.”

Essek stopped pacing. Caleb reached out to tangle together their fingers, and Essek didn’t have the heart to fight him.

“Essek, look. If you don’t want him to come with us, okay. That’s fine. If you’re looking for my permission, you have it. Either way, we’ll figure it out. If you’re afraid… I don’t have the answers for you. He doesn’t need to know what happened if you don’t want him to. But who else can help him, really? The Mighty Nein was always a home for the lost, the angry, the confused. We may not all be together anymore, but has that changed?”

“Are you trying to _guilt_ me into adopting a child?”

“No. I’m just trying to remind you.”

Essek scowled at him for a long moment, trying to parse whether Caleb was being genuine or not. “...Fine," he said eventually, "On a trial basis. But if he breaks anything, he’s gone.”

Caleb scoffed. “You are not so harsh even to Frumpkin.”

As if Essek could get rid of Frumpkin even if he wanted to. “I mean it. One broken vase and I’m sending him back.”

“How unilateral of you.”

“You don’t agree?”

Caleb kissed him on the forehead. “I think that this is a cruel world for scared little boys who have to grow up too fast. We both know this. But what if we can help this one? A broken vase seems small beans compared to that.”

Essek sighed. “I love you Caleb.”

“I love you Essek.”

“Do you want to come meet him then?”

Five decades.

Essek had almost given up hope that he would ever find Caleb again. Metempsychosis was such a foreign concept in the Empire. Even with the opening of the college. Even with his hundreds of graduates over the years, if someone wasn’t one of his students, they did not know what consecution was. They did not know what the signs of anamnesis were. Rexxentrum was just starting to see the first generation of rebirths, and the small farming villages dotting the countryside on the outskirts of the city were ill equipped to understand, or find the correct resources to work through the dreams.

He’d met with close to thirty children over the past five years or so, when he had started searching for Caleb in earnest. Gwylyss had helped him develop a survey for the children to fill out, describing their experience growing up both before and after the dreams started. Whether anything felt like it didn't fit quite right. Essek had learned not to take the word of adults speaking over children.

A few of the children had been experiencing genuine anamnesis, and their parents generally jumped at the opportunity for them to to have full ride scholarships to the Academy so that Essek could help them work through their dreams and assess their latent magical talents. 

But none of them had been Caleb. 

Janus Miller, the boy he was called to meet, was unremarkable on paper, save for an uncultivated knack for spellcraft that had been the cause of a number of complaints from the neighboring farmsteads. He’d had little formal schooling, though his father promised he had been taught his letters and could fill out whatever questions Essek sent him. 

Janus had made no indication that he felt like anything in his body was amiss, nor that he wanted to be called by another name. He was just restless, plagued by vivid, recurrent nightmares that his family had hoped would pass on their own. After a year the dreams were still going strong, and his insomnia was beginning to affect his chores. The cleric they had consulted with had referred them to Essek, obliquely referring to him as an expert in _peculiar_ nightmares.

The family home was likewise unremarkable. A three room farmhouse with chickens and goats milling around the yard and a hutch full of rabbits. The walkway was half cobbled, and half mud puddle, and while Essek had been to many such farms over the years, he still thought it reeked. 

Janus’s parents introduced themselves with a peculiar sort of reticence as Klaus and Beata, and served as a conspicuous wall between him and the one closed door in the tiny home. Their stares lingered on Essek as he moved, as if they’d never seen a drow before. 

They probably hadn’t. 

“Well…” Essek said, if only to extricate himself from the oppressive awkwardness of their introductions, “Can I meet him?”

“Yes, of course.” Beata lingered with her knuckles hovering over the closed door, before finally working up the nerve to knock. It swung open immediately, as if the boy had been waiting on just the other side for his parents' signal. His father frowned at him.

The boy was a mousy thing, Essek thought. With brown hair, and brown eyes, and a round, forgettable face. “Hello Janus, my name is-”

“Essek!” Janus exclaimed, pushing past his parents and flinging himself at Essek, his overwhelming affection pinning Essek’s arms tightly to his sides. “I _told_ you he was real!” 

This meant nothing, Essek always had to remind himself. Many of his students over the years had recognized him at a glance upon seeing him again. It could still be any number of people. “Yes, that’s right. Essek Widogast. It’s lovely to meet you. How old are you Janus?”

“I’m going to be fifteen next month,” he said, proudly puffing out his chest. 

_Nine months after Caleb’s death_. The places where Janus’s fingers were still wrapped around his arms burned like a brand. Essek smiled tightly at Janus’s parents, lingering anxiously by the door, and back to Janus. “My early congratulations on your birthday. I hear you’ve been having dreams. Can you tell me about them a little? If you’re comfortable?” 

Janus pulled away and his gaze fell to his feet. He scratched his forearm like there was something irritating his skin, and he had pinprick scabs on his arms like it wasn’t the first time. “I’ve seen… a lot of fire. I’ve watched my parents burn. My friends. My. Enemies. In my dreams fire comes to me as easily as breathing.” Janus frowned, expression fading into something hollow and distant.

“You seem to recognize me as well?” Essek asked, hoping to coax him out of the visions that haunted him. 

“Yeah, um. I’ve dreamed about our wedding. You're dressed in white, with a crown of purple flowers on your head and silver paint on your skin. You hate wearing white, but I think you look beautiful in it, so you do it anyway. There are other people there too, I think they’re our friends, but I can’t remember their names.” 

Essek held a fist to his mouth, biting his knuckles hard to quash the welling of emotions that threatened to spill into tears. He couldn’t afford to make a fool of himself in front of this boy and his fretting parents and scare them off. “This is called anamnesis. Are you familiar with the term?”

Janus shook his head. Essek glanced at his parents, who also shook theirs. 

“Your dreams are memories. Memories of a past life. Do you remember what your name was in these dreams?”

“Uhm… I’m not sure. There are a few of them? I know that sounds weird, but I’m not sure which is the right one.”

“That’s fine. That’s perfectly fine. If it’s alright with you Janus, and your parents, of course, I’d like to see you enrolled in a program at Soltryce. It is designed especially for young people like yourself, who are remembering past lives.”

“Absolutely not,” Klaus said. “There’s no way we can afford to send him to the capital.”

“There are scholarships available.” Named for your son’s past life, Essek doesn’t say. 

“We need him here to help take care of the farm.”

Essek tried to swallow a sigh of exasperation. The farm wasn’t that big. He couldn’t imagine it required _that_ much upkeep. “What if we met once or twice a week? I really think coming to the capital could help him recover his memories.”

“How are we supposed to afford travelling to the capital every week?”

“I would be happy to arrange for his transportation,” Essek said, his patience waning. 

Beata stepped forward. She grabbed Janus by the shoulder and pushed herself between them. “Does this sound alright to you? Our son is fourteen.”

“Almost fifteen!” Janus protested.

“Fourteen,” she reiterated, “And he thinks he is your husband. You want to take him away from us so that you can do gods know what with him. All because of some nightmares filled with fire and drow!” 

“I-” Essek was taken aback. Anamnesis was sacred and unquestioned in the Dynasty. He never once had thought of it as something _perverse_ . Something _shameful_. “I’m sorry. I am the Dean of Dunamantic Studies at Soltryce Academy. I am the foremost expert on anamnesis in the Empire. Regardless of any personal attachments I may have had to Janus’s past life, it is not hyperbole when I say that I am the most qualified individual in the Empire to help your son work through this.”

“Mom, I want to go.” Janus said, struggling out of her grip to stand next to Essek. 

Beata scowled at each of them in turn, as if her indignation could cow them both into submission. Klaus lurked silently behind her staring daggers at Essek, and Essek feared he was one wrong step from being kicked out. "You are just a _boy_ . I am not going to let some old _drow_ take you and fill your mind with lies. These are nightmares, nothing more. You are our _son_ , Jan. Isn’t that good enough for you?” 

“But mom, I’m more than that. I know I am.”

“Ma’am.” Essek was floundering. This was getting far too out of his control far too quickly. “For one, I’m not even 200.” She scoffed, as if he had proven her point for her. “What if he had a chaperone? Someone who would oversee the process?” 

“I’ll go,” she said, not missing a beat. 

Essek winced, “It would be better if it were a third party… some of the memories he might experience could be very personal.”

“Absolutely not. We both go, or neither of us.”

Essek couldn’t let this boy slip through his fingers, not after waiting so long to find him. He reluctantly bowed his head. “Of course,” he sighed, defeated. “It would be my honor to host you both.”

Janus's parents ended up rescheduling their appointment twice before they finally committed to a day. And when the meeting finally came, he almost feared _he_ would have to reschedule, he was so nauseous with nerves. He wished, for the first time in a very long time, that he had some wine to numb his buzzing anxiety.

Beata and Janus met him outside their home, both dressed in what Essek assumed was their best clothes, freshly pressed and starched. Janus was rocking excitedly on his heels, and Beata was clutching at a small satchel with white knuckled hands.

"Have either of you been to the capital before?"

Both shook their heads. 

"Well, I don't want to overwhelm you, so I'll be teleporting us directly to my offices at the Academy. I'd like to give you a little tour of the campus today, but if you'd like to see the city, please let me know. I'd be happy to show you."

"What is walking around the school going to do for his nightmares?" Beata asked, frowning warily.

Essek sighed, "In his past life, Janus both attended and taught at the school. Seeing it could help him remember something." He offered her his hand, and Janus his other, and if the hand he offered Janus just happened to have his wedding ring on it, it was completely unintentional. Janus snatched at his hand, and Essek selfishly indulged in giving it a squeeze. Beata took his other more hesitantly. "Now, the first time teleporting can be a little disorienting. It's perfectly normal to feel a little queasy afterwards."

Janus let out a loud whoop of excitement when they reappeared in Essek's office. Beata did not. 

"Well, it’s my pleasure to welcome you both to Soltryce. This is Miette, my secretary." Essek explained, gesturing to the tiny gnome perched at what was less a desk and more an intricate, clockwork workstation that she had designed herself, and which took up the greater part of his reception area. She waved enthusiastically at the lot of them. 

They wandered the campus, Essek pointing out this office or that classroom. Janus would sometimes stop abruptly, staring down a hallway with such intensity that Essek thought he must be remembering something, but whenever he asked, Janus just shook his head. Essek's legs ached as the day wore on, and he tried to subtly lift himself off the ground, but Janus noticed almost immediately, a pensive furrow in his brow.

"Are you in pain?" He asked abruptly.

Beata tugged on his sleeve, and hissed something in his ear that Essek thought must have been admonishment, because Janus apologised immediately afterwards.

Essek faltered. "Why would you think I’m in pain?”

"You only float when you’re hurting,” Janus said. “...Right?”

Essek’s heart ached with the effort of not reaching out and clinging to this child. Not holding him close and never letting him go. “Generally, yes. That’s right. But please don’t mind me. Is there anywhere else you’d like to see today?” 

“Can I see the transmutation labs?” 

Essek smiled and nodded, offering Janus the hand with his wedding band on it one too many times for him to deny he was doing it on purpose. “I’d be happy to show you.”

Janus's parents reluctantly allowed him to meet with Essek for an hour, exactly, once a week, exactly. He spent their next meeting guiding Janus through dream journaling and lucid dreaming, trying to help him work past the overwhelming wall of fire towards better, more helpful memories. The week after that, he spent introducing him to meditation, recounting and working through his dreams while he was awake. 

On their fourth visit together, Essek again eased Janus into a quiet, comfortable meditation. Then, on a whim, he summoned Frumpkin and urged him to go sit in the boy’s lap.

“Hallo, Kätzchen,” Janus murmured, fondly scritching under Frumpkin’s chin. Frumpkin sniffed at Janus’s jaw and then curled up in his lap. “Wie geht's?”

Frumpkin yowled loudly, and kneaded his paws against the boy’s legs as if in reply. Making biscuits, Caleb had called it. Essek had always refused to. He glanced up at Beata “Can Janus speak Zemnian?”

She shook her head, “My husband can, but we don’t at home.”

“Wie heißt du?” Essek pressed gently, kneeling down before Janus.

“Ich heiße… Bren Aldric Ermendrud, aber ich werde Caleb, Caleb Widogast genannt.” he whispered, curling his fingers in Frumpkin's fur. He opened his eyes and laughed in delight, “Und er ist Frumpkin! Du hast noch Frumpkin!”

Essek smiled and nodded, “Natürlich.”

Caleb threw his arms around Essek’s neck and drew him close, and Frumpkin did not stir, even as he was squished between them. He kissed Essek just like he remembered Caleb kissing him, his smile as bright as the sun, and terribly difficult not to smile with him. Without thinking, Essek reached up to cup the foreign shape of Caleb’s jaw, sighing against his skin.

“Enough! You get away from my son. Jan, we’re done here.” 

Essek jerked away, horrified. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“ _I_ did! Mom, please. You don’t get it. We’ve been married for thirty-five years. We have a son named Gwylyss, we have granddaughters, Una and Ilvrith. This isn’t _bad-_ ”

“I don’t want to hear it! Janus, come with me. We’re going home. Thank you very much for your time Professor Widogast, you have been _more_ than helpful. We will deal with these nightmares on our own.” She shooed Frumpkin from Caleb’s lap and yanked on his arm until he was forced to scramble to his feet or fall over. 

Panicked, Essek did the only thing he could think to do, twisted a length of copper wire in his hand.

_I’ll wait for you here, at the Academy. You know where to find me Caleb._

“I'm so sorry Essek. Mom, come _on_ , don’t be like this!” 

They left, Caleb’s indignant protests echoing down the hall.

Frumpkin pawed at Essek trouser leg until he plucked the cat up off the floor. Frumpkin mewled sadly at him. He buried his face in the cat’s soft fur and cried. 

No matter how he hoped, Essek never did hear back from Caleb or his parents. He was tempted to scry on him, to send him messages. Tempted to dispatch liaisons to try and convince his parents to let him come to the Academy. But that would be obsessive. Before he died, Caleb had made him promise not to obsess over finding him. Made him promise to live his life, and not let it consume him. _I know how you get_ , he had warned. He promised, with his hand over Essek’s heart, that he would be back. Eventually.

So Essek left the Millers alone. Focused on his students. On his other anamnesis cases. On his family. Trusted Caleb.

For five years the boy with Caleb’s nightmares was little more than a shade, one that had floated in and out of Essek’s life so quickly that he sometimes questioned whether he had actually met him at all.

Essek was 177 years, 4 months, and 28 days old, and he was grading papers in his office. 

His day had been unremarkable in every way, to the point of droning monotony as he read through his fourth essay on mass manipulation in less than an hour. There had been one, brief, blessed respite in the form of a truly novel project that involved the utilization of negative space to transform a gravity sinkhole into an abjuration spell. But his fascination was short lived, when he recalled the young student had been studying a similar concept for her graduation project in her past life. Not strictly forbidden, but he thought he might need to add clarification to his syllabus if such exploitations became commonplace. Just one more peculiarity of consecution that he had never before considered.

Miette knocked on his door three times in quick succession, and then opened it just wide enough to peek inside. “Professor Widogast? There’s a young man here to see you. He says his name is Caleb… Widogast?”

Essek stood with such haste that he slammed his knee against the underside of his desk and let out an undignified yelp. An inkpot toppled over and he was so distracted that he didn’t even realize that it splattered all over his dress robes until it was too late. “Please, let him in.” 

She disappeared, and the door swung open. A young man stood there, strong muscled and ruddy skinned from toiling long hours in the sun. He had a leather satchel slung easily over a shoulder, loaded overfull. A shirt sleeve was spilling out from under the flap. “Hey, Essek.”

“...Caleb?” he asked cautiously. 

The young man grinned crookedly. He was missing a tooth, Essek couldn’t help but notice. “In the flesh.” 

Essek found himself floundering like he had so many years ago, when their relationship was young and fragile. When he wasn’t sure what he was allowed. He lingered by his desk, hands outstretched in an awkward greeting that had aborted somewhere between a wave and an invitation for a hug. “I’m so sorry, Caleb. I’m so sorry I left you there.”

The bag fell from Caleb’s shoulder and he took a couple shuffling steps into the office. “You _didn’t_ , Essek. You gave me something I have been searching for for a hundred years. You gave me a childhood. You gave me parents. You let me grow up with them. You let me love them. With no corruption, no lies. I always thought the answers were behind me. They weren’t. They were ahead. And I think… maybe now that I’ve found peace, maybe Una and Leofric have too.”

Selfish as it was, Essek’s heart sank. “Does that mean you’re going back to your family then?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“You." Caleb looked around the room, taking stock of what had changed, what hadn't. His gaze lingered on a small portrait of Una and her wife on their wedding day that hadn't been there even five years prior. "I don’t pretend to know what you’ve gone through in the past twenty years. And I don’t… presume to know whether you’ve found someone else, or judge you if you have. But. I’m here. For you. If you’ll have me.”

Essek choked on a wet, relieved laugh. He crossed the distance between them, wrapped his arms around Caleb and buried his face against his neck. He smelled like goat and earth and sweat, and Essek found he didn't care in the slightest. “I promised, didn't I? Through this life and all the lives that follow. I am yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scherben bringen Glück: Shards bring luck  
> Schlafmütze: Sleepyhead  
> Küss mich, Liebling: Kiss me, darling  
> Ich habe sie emordet.: I murdered them.  
> Willst du mich heiraten?: Will you marry me?  
> Sehr gut: Very good.  
> Ja, mein Liebling, ich will.: Yes, my darling, I want to.  
> Hallo, Kätzchen, wie geht's?: Hello, kitty, what's up?  
> Wie heißt du?: What's your name?  
> Ich heiße… Bren Aldric Ermendrud, aber ich werde Caleb, Caleb Widogast genannt: My name is... Bren Aldric Ermendrud, but I go by Caleb, Caleb Widogast.  
> Und er ist Frumpkin! Du hast noch Frumpkin!: And this is Frumpkin! You still have Frumpkin!  
> Natürlich.: Naturally.


	2. Entelecheia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyhey! Mryarra wanted to see some M9 vs. Deirta so here's that! Takes place entirely within the confines of Ch. 1 of Lacuna. Thank y'all who commented and left kudos, it means a lot! <3 
> 
> CW: Deirta is a really, really terrible mom. Evidence of torture as described in Ch. 1 of Lacuna. 
> 
> Unbetaed (also, I'm a n00b, where does one find a beta? I keep going back and reading old chapters and finding so many errors I missed the first time around omg) concrit and any suggestions for things you'd like to see are welcome! 
> 
> A note: in Lacuna I said that it had been a little over a month between M9 leaving the peace talks and returning to Rosohna, I went back and rechecked the canon timeline, and that should really be a little under a month. But this is already canon divergence, so I'm keeping it a little over a month.

Caleb thought… he wasn’t sure what he had thought. Maybe that Essek was really going to try and change. Maybe that Essek really did feel something, _anything_ for them. For him. That he hadn’t misread the weight of the silence between them that last night on the ship.

So when Essek didn’t reach out? Well. That silence spoke volumes too.

It made sense. Essek had his problems, and they had theirs. They couldn’t afford to drop everything and clean up his messes, and he obviously wasn’t interested in their help anyway.

Caleb wasn’t bitter.

He wasn’t.

It was better this way. For everyone. Caleb had played with fire, and like always, he had gotten burned. He needed to lick his wounds, not go crawling back to the flames, no matter how painfully seductive they always were.

That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway.

He poured himself into helping Jester prepare for her ridiculous, charming, absolutely mad Travelercon. Into making her smile. Making her happy. She deserved all the happiness in the world, not to be dragged down by people like Essek. 

People like him.

Caleb helped her weave her fantasy, and pretended like he wasn’t hurt. Still pretended like he wasn’t hurt when Jester, sweet, kind, friendly Jester could not bear to leave the olive branch unextended and insisted on reaching out. Pestering Essek about the mundane, the trivial, anything she could think of to share with him as she shot little messages his way in the days following their departure from Rumblecusp. 

He pretended like he wasn’t hurt when her face fell every time Essek didn’t respond. _Bastard_ , he thought, and not for the first time. Essek wouldn’t have been brave enough to turn her down to her face, but behind magic? Behind magic was easy. 

The Nein were huddled in a hole in the wall ratskeller that Caleb had haunted those few fond years he had lived in the capital. A moody, dark place that catered to the young, impetuous clientele that its vicinity to the academy tended to attract. The food was cheap and the ale was watered down, but the memories were fond. Mostly. It also served as a bitter reminder that this was not the first time that his judgement had failed him so painfully. 

“He’s still not responding guys,” Jester said, picking sullenly at the rough hewn edges of a name carved into the table. “Do you think something happened to him?”

“Maybe try scrying on him?” Veth suggested with a weary sort of reticence that insinuated a profound lack of faith in the effort. They were tired, all of them. The madness of Rumblecusp seemed so alien and distant even though it was not even a week past, so quickly they had been consumed by the politicking and manouvering of the Assembly. He knew none of them shared his, well, his obsession. But they indulged him, and more than that, they supported him. But the Nein had not been hardened by these people. And he saw how treating with them wore on his friends.

Jester clutched her holy symbol in her fingers while sticking the tip of her tongue between her lips in concentration. Artagan coalesced behind her, his head tilted in as if in thought. After a moment, he patted her on the shoulder with a shake of his head and she sighed. 

“That isn’t working either,” Jester said as Artagan slipped back into the shadows in a flash of green, “What if something happened to him? Do you think we should go check?”

“I don’t kn-”

“If Essek does not want to talk to us, that is his prerogative,” Caleb blurted, interrupting Veth. “We have spoken to DeRogna, we have spoken to Ikithon. Next up is Zadash. We have a plan,” Caleb said, struggling to hide his growing irritation at Essek for treating them so poorly when they had risked their own necks to accommodate him. 

Jester frowned, “I know… I really think we should just quick pop in and check on him, you know? Let him know we’re going to be gone for a while? What if he tries to contact us when we’re up north and he can’t get through?” 

Caleb’s fingers tightened in Frumpkin’s fur. “He is the Shadowhand, he can take care of himself. He is cutting ties, Jester. It’s better this way,” he said, as much to remind himself as her. 

Jester’s shoulders and tail wilted so dreadfully that Caleb and his ire drew the exasperated glances of both Fjord and Beau. He scowled. “But he’s our friend…” Jester said, in the smallest, saddest little voice. 

Caleb sighed, staring down at his hands. “Is he, Jester? Is he really? He has chosen his path. And we are not part of it.”

“What, ah. What do you suppose makes him different from Astrid and Eadwulf?” Caduceus asked, in the lazy sort of way he always asked things he already knew the answers to. He was leaning in over his plate to peer down the table at Caleb, avoiding the pile of chopped sausage he had picked out of his meal. 

Caleb looked up at him, realizing as he did that he’d given his mug of ale to Veth. “What do you mean?”

“Are they your friends?”

There was no good answer to that question. Not even within the relative safety of his own mind, where whispers lingered of promises broken and secrets shared long ago. Whispers of a man with oil on his tongue and coal in his heart. 

Beau shot Caleb a pointed look as she spared him from answering. “We could split up? Half go to Zadash, half go check in on Essek. Then meet back up with DeRogna and head north. We’ve got a couple days.”

“I will stay with you Beau,” Yasha said, smiling down at whatever she saw in the dregs of her mug. 

Veth kicked Caleb under the table, and he yelped, more in surprise than in pain. She mouthed a silent 'oops' and Frumpkin skittered off of his lap, fur fluffed in indignation. “I’m with Caleb!” 

“I don’t know how much help I’d be in the library…” Caduceus mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Well _I_ want to check on Essek,” Jester said, arms wrapped tightly around the traitorous Frumpkin. 

“I…” Fjord looked after Jester with a quiet sort of desperation, as if realizing the potentially unbalanced party size, yet reluctant to go to Zadash. 

Beau groaned. “Dude, if it’s just gonna be Yasha and me then we might as well all go, and then all hit the archive afterwards.”

“Will Vess stand for that?” Fjord asked dubiously. 

Caleb shook his head, pushing himself away from the table with a resigned sigh. The sooner he got them there, the sooner they could get their awkward reunion over with. “We shouldn’t be in Xhorhas for more than an hour or two. Pop in, see Essek, pop out. We can be back in Zadash for supper as long as we don’t get into any fights along the way.”

\---

The guards charged with watching over the Lucid Bastion generally regarded the Nein with impatient bemusement, as a sort of peculiar novelty that punctuated days spent otherwise in endless monotony. But when the Nein arrived in Rosohna the guards in the teleport chamber stared at them with an unwavering intensity that made the hair on the back of Caleb’s neck stand on end. 

They were wordlessly herded to the throne room, with no explanation, and no opportunity to deny the summons. Something restless settled in Caleb’s gut as he counted weapons, barred exits, and the precise amount of time it would take to teleport away.

There was a woman in Essek’s place at the Bright Queen’s side, dressed in a slim black suit with a heavy livery collar draped over her shoulders. She regarded the Nein with a curious, sharp intensity that reminded Caleb of a bird of prey that had a mouse speared in its talons. No one in the queen’s court spared her a sideways glance, and she showed no sign of being out of her element. As if she had been there for a while. Long enough to acclimate. 

Caleb was calculating the best way to broach what was beginning to look like an extremely delicate conversation with the greatest possible diplomacy when Jester broke the silence for him.

“Hey, Your Majesty! Do you know if Essek’s okay? You look super duper pretty today too, by the way. We’re just kind of worried, you know? We’ve tried messaging him but can’t get through.”

A stony hush fell over the hall. Caleb didn’t miss how no one seemed to breathe, how no one seemed to make eye contact with the Nein save for one drow woman perched next to the Skysybil whose face was contorted into a contemptuous sneer that could melt steel.

The strike of the Bright Queen’s scepter rang sharp against the marble floor like a gunshot. “Clear the hall,” she said, “Umavis, Shadowhand. You may stay.”

The Dusk Captain breezed past her queen with a grave authority which no one seemed keen to question. She gestured the guards away from the Nein with a flick of her wrist, and everyone fell out of the room with only the clatter of a multitude of heels breaking the oppressive silence. The Skysybil and the woman next to her remained, along with the woman at the queen’s side. The Shadowhand. 

The queen rose from her chair, cutting an imposing figure in her tri-horned crown, with a train that shimmered like starlight pooling around her ankles. “Mighty Nein. You have ever been… enthusiastic in your helpfulness. I pray that cooperation continues this day. Would you be willing to answer some questions?”

Fjord stepped forward with an awkward half bow, forcing space between Jester and the queen. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

The Shadowhand mirrored his movement, striding forward and down the dias with long easy strides. She twisted her hands in the beginning gestures of a spell that Caleb countered on reflex, and she pressed her lips together into a thin line of annoyance. 

“Your answers will carry more weight if you speak them under a zone of truth,” she explained, staring pointedly at Caleb.

Fjord cleared his throat, “Ah, perhaps if we knew a little bit more about the sort of information you’re looking for? Surely you can understand our hesitation.”

The Shadowhand glanced over her shoulder to the queen, who nodded in wordless permission. “Details regarding how you came into possession of a Luxon beacon,” she said. 

The Nein shared a collective look of silent apprehension. Alarms which had been incubating as a quiet, insidious worry up until that moment blared in the back of Caleb’s mind. This was not the first time these women had discussed this outcome. They’d been waiting for the Nein. They were prepared. This was a terrible mistake. 

Fjord moved more pointedly in front of Jester, his hands rested on his hips, clutched tight into fists as if he were fighting against the urge to draw his sword. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what that has to do with our inquiring after Essek?” 

The Shadowhand raised a pristinely manicured eyebrow, raking her steely gaze over each of them in turn. “Your answers will dictate whether you are executed as his co-conspirators or not.”

In the ensuing silence, Veth tugged on Caleb’s sleeve, a copper wire twisted into the palm of her hand. 

_Are we murdering a queen? Is that where we’re at? You can reply to this message._

He shot her a stern look, silently shaking his head. Veth scowled, but tucked the wire back into her pocket, her hand tightening protectively around his cuff.

“Alright,” Beau said to the Shadowhand amid Caleb and Veth’s silent exchange. “But we only promise to speak about the beacon. Nothing else.” 

The queen’s brows drew tight, her mouth pulled downward in the slightest of disapproving frowns. “If more information is deemed necessary, then it would be prudent to comply willingly,” she warned, backed up by the silent, expectant stares of the Umavis and Shadowhand. 

A small, grudging murmur of assent rippled through the Nein. Caleb refused to voice his compliance, but knew that, all things considered, it would be more dangerous for them to resist. The Shadowhand watched him as she cast once more, either to ensure he did not counter her spell, or to ensure he did not resist it. Or both.

The spell tasted like an iron bit in Caleb’s mouth and he couldn’t help but grimace as the magic took hold, wrapping around his vocal cords and settling heavy on his tongue. He drifted back, deeper into the group, not keen to draw the lingering attention of the Shadowhand. 

“Please tell me where it is you found the beacon,” the Shadowhand said, her arms folded stiffly at the small of her back.

“In the sewers in Zadash,” Beau said, squaring her shoulders and crossing her arms over her chest like a one woman wall between the Kryn and the Nein.

“Were you looking for the beacon?”

“No.”

“Were _any_ of you looking for the beacon?” The Shadowhand clarified, looking to each of them in turn. She waited until each and every one of them responded in the negative before continuing.

“Did you have any prior knowledge of the beacons?”

“No.”

When silence drew long after Beau’s answer, the Shadowhand sighed, regarding them as a group with her hands spread wide. “All of you answer the question please. If your reticence wastes my spell, I will recast it. And my patience will wane by increments.”

Another murmur of reluctant nos were echoed in response.

“Had you had any contact with the Kryn before coming to Xhorhas?”

The line of Beau’s shoulders tightened a fraction. Fjord caught Caleb’s gaze out of the corner of his eye, and Caleb tucked his chin in the slightest nod.

“Yes,” Fjord said.

The Shadowhand’s gaze shifted to Fjord. “Please describe the interaction.”

“We found a drow who called himself Thuron in the sewers in Zadash. He told us a little bit about beacons, and had one in his possession.”

“So you took the beacon from him?”

“No,” Fjord said, shaking his head. (And Caleb was relieved now that, for once, they had shown such restraint). “We let him go. He was later killed by Crownsguard, and we took the beacon from them.” 

“Were any of you in contact with Essek before your first audience with Her Radiance?”

“No, ma’am.” The Shadowhand raised her eyebrow once more, waiting. An echo of nos followed. 

“Were any of you in contact with the Cerberus Assembly before coming to Rosohna?”

The silence, if possible, grew even more inhospitable. Caleb could feel the pressure of sideways glances from other, less subtle members of the Nein. He tugged his sleeves down over his wrists. “Not about beacons. Or Essek,” he said finally. 

“But about other matters?”

“Yes,” Caleb said, “I have been in contact with the Cerberus Assembly regarding other matters, I presume Essek had said as much in his reports.”

“Anything else?”

“We ran into a couple members in our travels, but it wasn't a big deal,” Beau said, drawing the Shadowhand’s attention away from Caleb.

“Were any of you aware of Essek’s criminal activity, whether you took part in it or not?”

Fjord cleared his throat once more, “Would you, ah, clarify the question?”

The Shadowhand leveled him with a critical stare. “No. The question does not require clarification.” 

“Before you introduced us, Your Radiance, we did not know of Essek’s existence, much less anything Essek might or might not have done.” Caleb said, cutting off anyone else’s attempts to explain by addressing the queen directly.

The Shadowhand’s steely gaze shifted to Caleb, eyes narrowed in silent appraisal, but the queen held up a hand before she could speak. “Mighty Nein, now is not the time to be playing coy. You are not protecting Essek. It is your own lives on the line. What do you know of Essek’s crimes?”

“We found out by accident, just before the peace talks,” Jester said, her voice wavering as she elbowed past Fjord. “We were trying to spy on Ludinus and we saw him with Essek. Essek didn’t admit anything to us until we kind of forced him to.”

“And what did he admit to,” the Shadowhand pressed. 

“He said he stole two beacons, and gave them to the Cerberus Assembly.”

“Why did you not report this to the Queen?”

There were awkward glances and a few shared shrugs among the small crowd. Someone shuffled their feet to Caleb’s left, but he didn’t want to risk looking to see who it was. “Because he’s our friend,” Jester said firmly. “And the beacon was going to be given back anyway. So… it wouldn’t matter. We want to be your friends, but we’re not your subjects, Your Majesty. We don’t _have_ to tell you anything.”

“Indeed.” The queen gestured to her Shadowhand and the woman gave them one last lingering once over before turning sharply on her heels and marched to the queen’s side. She leaned in to listen to her murmur softly in her ear. 

The Shadowhand then glanced back up at them and whispered something in return. The queen nodded.

“Essek frequently teleported you, yes?” The Shadowhand asked, righting herself and returning to stand in front of them. 

“Correct…” Fjord said, the word a hesitant half question in its own right. 

“Did he extend to you any other personal courtesies?”

“Such as?” asked Fjord. 

The Shadowhand smiled, a cold, mirthless expression that fell away long before meeting her eyes. “Oh, favors take many forms. Information. Magic. Gifts, Intimacy-” She paused when the drow woman sitting next to the Skysybil made an unsubtle noise of distaste, “-Things of that nature.” 

“Would it be illegal if he did?” Jester asked.

“That depends on the favor.” 

They must have known there had been more than that. How much had Essek reported to the queen? How much had he catalogued and filed away to be paid back at a later date? How much had he admitted to under the influence of the same truth magic they were now being subjected to?

“He gave us a decent bottle of wine once,” Beau muttered reluctantly. 

“And that’s it?”

Beau shrugged, not unclasping her arms.

“Out loud, if you please.” 

Beau sighed, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Is this true for the rest of you as well?”

There were a lot of favors, as it turned out. Made even more stark as the Nein reluctantly parted with them one by one. Jester told them about Essek offering them breakfast, but assured the queen that it was really terrible, and she shouldn’t hold it against him. Veth mumbled about him helping to complete the transmogrification spell. Fjord admitted that Essek had allowed him to question Tasithar, but that he’d gotten little out of him for the trouble. Caduceus and Yasha murmured quiet negatives. 

Caleb half hid behind Caduceus and hoped she assumed he had spoken too, silently triaging the information that he thought would prove least incriminating to Essek in what he already knew was the vain hope that the Shadowhand did not press further. 

“Mister Widogast. Is that the only favor he did for you?”

Caleb sighed and stepped back out into view. “He delayed the execution of a prisoner so that I could speak to her.”

“The scourger?”

“That is the one.”

“Anything else?”

“He dispelled a page of a book for me.” It was so stupid. He had thought that Essek would surely refuse to teach him ever again for having made such a novice mistake. He would have been within his rights to do so. Not that it mattered to this woman.

“Why?”

“It was enchanted. I thought there might have been something hidden in it.”

“Was there?”

“Yes. Some spell scrolls, which I kept.”

“Which were?”

“Levitate, Major Image, and Greater Invisibility.”

“And where did you acquire this page?”

“Uthodern. It had nothing to do with Xhorhas, the Kryn, or Essek.” Caleb said impatiently. Caduceus gently nudged him.

“Anything else?”

Caleb’s heart sank thinking of the hushed caution with which Essek had instructed him. How fiercely he had guarded his magical secrets, warning Caleb of the risk of offering him such esoteric magic. “He… taught me a spell.”

“A dunamancy spell?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

“Gift of Alacrity.”

“Anything else?”

“...he taught me another spell.”

“Which one?”

“Fortune’s Favor.”

“Anything else?”

Caleb sighed. “He taught me Immovable Object and Resonant Echo also. That is all of the spells he taught me.”

“Anything else?”

Caleb tried to force the word ‘no’ out, but the overwhelming tang of metal and an invisible pressure against his neck choked him no matter how hard he pushed against it. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to spit out the words to dispel her magic instead of the truth. 

The truth of a glance spared in his direction, eyes bright as crystal and blazing with fury. Waiting for Caleb’s signal. Caleb’s permission. Waiting to destroy what had tried to destroy him. All that power, coiled in the palm of his hand. Poised on the knife’s edge of judgement. It had been _thrilling_. 

“Mister Widogast,” the Shadowhand said, her voice raised, “Did Essek extend to you any other favors?”

“He killed the scourger for me.”

Both the queen and Shadowhand frowned. The Skysybil leaned over to murmur something to the other Umavi. “Clarify,” the Shadowhand said. 

“The scourger attacked and severely wounded me. He could have just restrained her, but he did not, because I did not want him to.”

The Shadowhand cast the queen a long, hard look. 

“He allowed you into the cell with the prisoner?” The queen asked.

“Yes. He did." 

The queen spoke once more, “It sounds as if Essek was quite fond of you, Mister Widogast. Is that the extent of the benefits he shared with you?” 

Caleb was keenly aware of the subtle change in wording, and was keenly aware of everyone’s eyes on him, both the Dynasty women, and the curious, knowing stares of the Nein, and his ears burned. He thought of too many touches not quite reciprocated. Too many stares that lingered a fraction of a second too long. A kiss to the forehead, rationalized away as a manipulation tactic taught to him in his youth. He thought of Essek reaching out, and pulling away like a coward. 

“There were no other benefits,” he said, his throat dry.

The queen nodded, apparently satisfied. “Very well. I must apologize for this rather sordid affair. I am satisfied that you played no knowing part in his plot. I understand that you developed a rapport with Essek during your time here in Rosohna. I only hope that this betrayal has not tainted your opinion of our country beyond repair.”

“Can’t we do anything to help?” Jester asked miserably.

Caleb almost missed the flickering glance the Queen spared in the direction of the third Umavi, a dark, pensive look on her face. “To help what?”

“I don’t know...” Jester shrugged, glancing over her shoulder to the rest of the Nein. “Get him a lighter sentence?” 

“Essek’s crimes cannot be understated. There is no punishment that can be wrought by mortal hands that befit his crimes against the Dynasty. To speak nothing of the security threat that leaving him alive would be. No, his death is not under negotiation.”

“What would it take to convince you?” she pressed stubbornly.

The queen lowered herself back into her throne with a weary sigh, and the third Umavi watched her move with guarded curiosity. “Nothing short of an act of god. If the Luxon wills it, he will live. Barring that, I am the executor of the Luxon’s will, and Essek’s fate.”

“Can we at least say goodbye?” 

The queen gestured for the Shadowhand to approach her once more, and they spoke in a hush that still seemed overloud in the otherwise silent hall. Caleb caught a few words, but did not understand them, and hoped Beau might be able to cast some light on the conversation if they were allowed to leave unharried. After a few moments of their back and forth, the queen once again addressed the Nein. “One of you may speak with him. Tomorrow. You are dismissed. Whomever shall see to him, return to the bastion in the morning.”

As they turned to leave, the third Umavi stood, raising her hand neatly at the elbow. “Your Radiance, if I may?”

“Of course, Deirta.”

“I would like to extend you all an invitation to my den for this evening’s meal. You have been dealt a low blow, and I would assure you that while Essek has betrayed us all, Den Thelyss remains your steadfast ally in these difficult times.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Fjord said, “That is most kind of you.”

\---

Deirta was, so far as Caleb could tell, alone save for her house staff. The primary manor on the Thelyss estate was a stuffy, stern feeling building. Almost as if it disapproved of being utilized for something so banal as entertaining house guests. As if it would have preferred the reverent silence of a library or museum. There were no portraits, no signs of personality. Just strange, abstract artwork and sculpture, all vaguely geometric in design. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, all spotless, bone white marble. 

He saw no signs of a husband, nor a son. Just this lonely woman in her lonely home, surrounded by staff that were as silent and serious as her statues. And yet her table, carved of gleaming purple wood, was fit for a banquet for far more people than even the Nein maintained. The table was only set at a fraction of the seats, the rest of the table left starkly barren. Deirta positioned herself at the head, with the Nein flanking her on either side. 

Caleb was admittedly not a connoisseur of Xhorhassian cuisine, but he got the distinct impression that the plates that were presented to them were meant to be equal parts alien and extravagant to the palettes of the generally low brow members of the Mighty Nein. She watched them all from over the rim of her wine glass, as if waiting for someone to complain. 

Conversation was stilted and awkward, too many niceties shared out of obligation and too little substance. Such dinners were becoming far too commonplace for Caleb’s liking. Everyone knowing what wasn’t being said, but stubbornly refusing to acknowledge it until it hung over them like a death shroud and turned food to ash on his tongue. 

They managed to make it through two courses before the conversation turned sour. Caleb hadn't expected it to be Veth that broached the subject, but she let her wine glass fall to the table with too much force after one too many dismissive comments that skirted Essek's fate, and directed all of her simmering motherly fury towards Deirta. "I can't believe you're not fighting harder to save your son."

Deirta leaned forward in her seat, “I do not expect you to understand our culture Misses Brenatto. But… Mister Widogast, perhaps you might be able to perform as an intermediary. I am curious, since Essek has taught you some dunamancy. Are you familiar with the term entelecheia?”

Unsure of how that related to anything at all, Caleb slowly shook his head. “No, I am not familiar.”

She clicked her tongue, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin, even though she had hardly eaten anything at all. “Typical. He teaches you holy magic, with no regard for the theology behind it. What is dunamancy, then, Mister Widogast?”

Caleb cleared his throat and sat a little straighter in his seat, self conscious under the stares of Deirta and her attendants. “It is… a school of magic which studies the manipulation of time, gravity, and fate.”

“You parrot Essek’s words well,” Deirta said, rolling her eyes, “Dunamancy is the manipulation of _dunamis_ , and what is dunamis, my young wizard?”

It was a vial of liquid that nearly cost Yeza his life. A vial of liquid traded as payment for a favor. A vial of liquid which was probably long since destroyed, Caleb realized with a pang of regret. “I cannot speak with any confidence, I’m afraid.”

Deirta nodded, as if she expected nothing less. “I am not surprised. Dunamis is potential. Dunamis is the essence from which all possibilities extend. And do you know what an Umavi is?”

“A perfect soul, as I understand it.”

“An Umavi is an individual who has _actualized_ the potential of dunamis to become that which is the essence of their ultimate _self_. The pursuit of perfection begets perfection. This is entelecheia. It is a concept which Essek neither comprehends, nor has any desire to. A man who has no ambition to better himself is no better himself than an animal. He exists only because he breathes, not because he has purpose.”

She paused, neatly folding her hands in front of her, her meal momentarily forgotten. “This is not a man to mourn, young ones. I am sorry for the way he hurt you, I truly am. And Den Thelyss is happy to extend you every reasonable hospitality to make up for this slight. But to move on from this painful experience, you must accept that he is not capable of redemption. Euthanasia is a mercy for people such as this.”

Veth’s silverware bounced on the table with a loud clatter as her fist slammed down in front of her. “How can you say that about your own son!”

“He is not my son. He is a cancer that needs to be excised.”

“You are a _terrible_ mother,” Veth said. Caleb thought she was going to storm out of the hall then and there, and was surprised when she remained seated, the furrow of her brow and her clenched fists the only remaining physical sign of her disgust. Caleb quietly reached out to wrap her little hand in his and gave it a squeeze. She pulled her hand away.

“I apologize if my intentions were misconstrued. This meeting was not to discuss the fate of the traitor, it was to assuage any doubts you may have had about the commitment of Den Thelyss to being your patrons here in Rosohna.” 

“So maybe Essek screwed up, and maybe he hurt a lot of people, but he’s not ‘the traitor’, he’s your _son_!” Veth pressed, undeterred. 

“No, he isn’t.” Deirta said sharply, “Essek has been disowned by Den Thelyss, and in short order will be expunged from the public record. He is a mistake that never happened.”

“You think pretending that you’re not his mother absolves you of guilt,” Caduceus said with a deep frown, “It won’t. You will live with this forever.” 

Deirta froze, expression shifting through a number of peculiar microexpressions in rapid succession before she managed to school them into something just on the venomous side of neutral. She ran a hand through her hair, chin raised in defiance. “You are guests here, ‘Mighty Nein’. I have lived many years and many lifetimes not to be criticized by the infantile philosophies of backwater Empire mercenaries, however well intentioned they may be. If you would spurn my generous hospitality, then you may take your leave.” 

Wordlessly, two of Deirta's attendants moved towards the double doors that lead to the grand hall.

Fjord held up a hand in placation. “No, ma’am. We don’t mean to do that at all. Essek was just very kind to us. We came to regard him as a… friend. We’re all just a bit taken aback by the news.”

Deirta’s smile was as sharp and as cloying as the smell of decay, “As was I, I assure you. And that is the extent of what I will say on the matter.”

“Forgive me, Umavi. One final question and we will trouble you no more. When is he scheduled for execution? I would like to be there, if it is permitted.” Caleb thought of all the ways he might steal the body. Might stop the execution before it came to that. Thought of all the ways he could fail and end up dead too. 

Deirta narrowed her eyes at Caleb, regarding him with cold, calculating silence for a long moment before replying. “I suppose that depends on how forthcoming he is with you tomorrow. Once the _Shadowhand_ -” the is an iciness to her tone, as if this fact, even more so than the fate of her son, was the truly repugnant outcome, “-has signed off on his interrogation, there will be no reason to keep Essek alive.”

\---

The guards took Caleb deep into the bowels of the dungeon. Deeper than Essek had ever taken him. He found his internal clock spinning and unmoored, a lingering queasiness hung in the air and choked his thoughts. There was no light save for the dim dancing globules that guided his way. And no prisoners. Not for what seemed like floors.

And floors.

And floors.

And floors.

They stalled outside a cell holding a frail, ratty creature done up in chains, wearing nothing but the tattered remains of a gossamer undershirt and stained leggings that hung loose and low on sharp hipbones. Even through the bars Caleb could smell the putrid stink of waste and infection from a body he wasn’t even certain was still alive. He had thought at first the drow’s hair was dark red, like Jourrael’s had been, but as his dim lights shifted, casting long shadows through the bars of the cell, he realized it was white, stained dark with blood. 

One of the guards gave him a shove between the shoulder blades, and he realized with donning horror that the broken, skeletal figure was Essek. “Gods, Essek, are you alright?” It was a stupid question, a stupid, obvious question. He wasn’t even sure if Essek was conscious.

The wounds littering Essek’s body were brutal, sloppy even. Less for the extraction of information and more for the exacting of _punishment._ An unconscious man couldn’t speak, yet Caleb catalogued a multitude of insults, any one of which could have caused the slack, doll-like body slumped before him. The head shifted, limp, knotty hair obscuring his face. “You know, actually, I’ve been better.” Essek’s voice was hoarse, the voice of a man who had broken it screaming. 

Essek shook with violent, hacking coughs, and an ugly dark fluid oozed down his chin. 

Caleb had thought he was avoiding them. Thought he had been cutting ties. Stupid. Stupid. _Stupid_ Widogast. “How long have you been down here?”

Essek’s body heaved in what might have been an attempt at a shrug, but looked more like an aborted fall, caught by the chains lashing him to the wall. “I… have no idea. How long has it been since we last spoke?”

Counting the days made a sick, painful knot form in the pit of Caleb’s stomach. “A little over a month.”

Essek seemed to wilt, his brows drawn tight. “A little over a month, then.”

“Scheiße, we should have been here, I should have-”

Essek shook his head. “Please don’t say any more.”

“But-”

A sudden burst of fury had Essek lurching against his chains. He sneered at the guard lingering behind Caleb, his teeth stained as red as his hair. “The only reason they let you down here is because they’re listening. You know that. Your group did the exact same thing.”

And you are being punished for it, Caleb berated himself. He took a couple shuffling steps towards the bars separating them, and Essek flinched as if frightened. Caleb stopped, his shoulders sagging. “But we can help you.”

Essek made a small, breathless sound that Caleb thought might have been an attempt at laughter, choked off by a pained hiss. “You can’t help this, Caleb. Someone has to pay. You know that as well as I. I’ve made my peace with death. With. This. It’s what I deserve.”

“No,” Caleb shook his head vehemently, “I do not accept this. This is not penance,” he said, the word spit like poison, “this is torture. There must be something we can do.” He toyed, very briefly, with the thought that if there were no other options, he doubted Essek’s frail body could withstand even a minor attack. If he could just distract the guard long enough to sneak his fingers into a somatic gesture.

“Just… tell me about the island?” Essek asked, his voice thin and reedy, “Was it all Jester hoped it would be?”

Caleb should have insisted. Should have demanded he come along with them. Who was the more arrogant of them? Essek to have thought he could get away with it? Or Caleb for thinking the same? Every word of his story pulled reluctantly from a crystalline memory was fuel to the fire of overwhelming guilt for ever having been furious at Essek for not responding to Jester’s messages. He couldn’t even bring himself to admit that they had tried contacting Essek. Couldn’t admit that it was Jester who had wanted to return, that he had been ready to give up.

“Thank you, Caleb,” Essek said when Caleb had run out of things to tell him, “You’ve been a better friend to me than I deserve.”

 _No I haven’t_. Gods, Caleb was a terrible person. “Do you… remember on the boat?”

Essek’s chains and lungs creaked in the silence that drew out between them. “Of course I do.”

“What were you going to say?” Was he wrong about that too?

Essek’s eyes shifted in the pinprick reflection of Caleb’s lights. Caleb followed his gaze to the guard lingering silently over his shoulder. “No,” Essek said with an air of finality that felt like a nail hammered into a coffin, “It’s too late for that now. It’s better if some things remain unsaid.”

The phantom pain of a thousand clawing, biting, crawling insects and sharp, burning green crystal spread like fire underneath Caleb’s skin. He grit his teeth, thinking, working the numbers, analysing the options. He could put Essek out of his misery now, and die here with him, but no matter how much guilt spared him to charity, he feared his own death. Or, he could wait for Essek’s inevitable execution, risk his own death there, again, and the deaths of the rest of the Nein on the off chance they could escape with him. Or, he could wait. Let Essek die, and maybe, someday, they might see each other again. Anything else would take a miracle, as declared by the queen. “Essek. If. If you won’t- This can’t be the end. We have so much left to discuss. I will wait for you to come back. I can be patient.”

Essek stared at him, unblinking and hazy, as if he hadn’t heard Caleb. Or barring that, that he hadn’t understood. He choked on a small, pained laugh that left Caleb irrationally defensive. “Was?” he snapped. 

“Just… one more lie to add to the pot. It seems so unimportant, now. Given the grand scale of all of my other lies. But, ah. I’m not consecuted. And even if I was, traitors and apostates are not allowed the honor of a rebirth.”

“What?” A rock settled in the pit of Caleb’s stomach, piled high on an unforgiving barrow of regret and disappointment. He could not remain still a moment longer. Movement helped him think. Helped him calculate. Helped him work past the everpresent voice, whispering and judgemental, of a man whom he could never escape. Whispering words like _disappointment, failure_ , and _traitor_. 

“I’m sorry Caleb, I really am.”

Caleb was loath to make promises that he could not keep, and yet he found he could not stop his foolish, sentimental mouth from blurting, “This is not the end for you, Essek Thelyss. I am going to save you. I promise, I will.” 

“Now who’s lying,” Essek said, spitting blood on any hope Caleb might have offered.

He sighed, and unable to bear the sight of Essek’s broken form glaring defiantly back at him, turned his eyes to the floor. “Don’t give up Essek,” he said quietly and turned his back on Essek, shielding him from the burning sting of traitorous tears. 

\---

“ _Frau Thelyss, I must speak with you about Essek. As soon as possible.”_

Caleb didn’t know if she would respond, but he was seeing red and hardly cared. Not even the long, winding climb back to the surface did anything to cool his incandescent fury. This whole mess was his fault. No- Not his fault. If Essek hadn’t allied himself with the Assembly, he would not be in this mess. But the Assembly. It still stood because of Caleb’s weakness. Caleb’s folly. And Essek’s return to Rosohna had been a direct result of Caleb spurning him. It was both of them. And it wasn’t right for Essek to bear the punishment for their combined sins while Caleb stood by and watched. 

“ _You have been welcomed to my home, young man. You know where to find me.”_

It was a terrible idea, reaching out to Deirta. Not just because he would be meeting with the Denmother of House Thelyss on his own, without so much as speaking with the rest of the Nein, but because he was _panicking_. He was far, far too emotional to be thinking rationally, and that was just the time he was most prone to making sweeping, stupid, unilateral decisions. 

Like the one he was about to.

\---

Caleb slammed his fist against the heavy vermaloc doors, over and over again until a haggard looking maidservant swung the doors wide and scowled up at him. She hissed her disapproval, and made to shoo him from the Thelyss vestibule, but Deirta's lofty voice echoed from farther in the house. The maidservant wrinkled her nose in distaste, but stepped aside. Caleb pushed past her without a second glance. 

The maid led him into a study furnished in deep shades of blue and purple. It was the first room with a painting in it that he had seen. Deirta, and with her a man in a military uniform. Standing in front of the portrait was the woman herself, done up in finery incongruent with the otherwise austere room.

"It is good to see you again so soon, Mister Widogast. I pray your interview was fruitful?"

“You are a shrewd woman. I know that nothing I say will sway you from your position unless it is advantageous for you. I ask you here, now. What would it take to ensure Essek’s life, if not his freedom?”

Deirta cocked her head. “Am I to understand that you are asking _me_ , one of the queen’s oldest and most ardent friends, for advice on persuading the queen to levy the sentence of one of the worst traitors in the history of the Kryn?”

“Yes.”

Her strides were lazy and silent, slippered feet silent against the plush carpet as she meandered across the room to stand before Caleb. She was not quite as tall as him, but held herself with a bearing that made her feel larger than she was. Crowding into his space, she smelled like something sharply floral that he was unfamiliar with. “And what do I get out of this arrangement?” she asked. 

Caleb scowled, tamping down on his disgust. “Is the life of your son truly not good enough?”

“No, young man. It is not.”

“Then what do you want? You would not be entertaining me if you did not have a price.”

“A favor. The particulars of which to be called in at my leisure.”

He shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, “I cannot commit to that.” Nevermind how often he had already done so for her son. 

“It is a shame, then, that you won’t be able to make it to the funeral,” Deirta mused, half to herself. She held up a hand, as if to inspect her nails but her fingers were tipped in filigreed silver claws. 

“What did you say?”

“Hm? Nothing, why?” She stared at him, deep, unfathomable eyes boring unnervingly into his, sizing him up. “You are a brave man, to come here without your friends... Or a stupid one.” She hooked one of those claws underneath his chin, tipping his head up with a sort of disinterested appraisal. “I wonder why that is.”

Caleb held her gaze, tension only evident in the tightness of his jaw as he spoke with guarded movements to avoid the threat of her claw. “I have a vested interest in your son’s survival.”

“He is a useful tool, no doubt. Though… I have to wonder what wiles you have at your disposal to have seduced him so thoroughly to your heel in so little time.”

“Kindness,” Caleb said fridgidly. 

Deirta clicked her tongue as she flicked the point of her claw up the underside of his chin, leaving an angry red streak in its wake. “I’m sure your _kindness_ was _very_ convincing,” she said, raking her eyes judgmentally down his front. 

“Frau Thelyss, I have not known you long, so you will forgive me if my assessment of your character is flawed. Essek is a liability to you and yours, I understand this. But what if I could offer the Dynasty something worth that liability?”

Deirta laughed, the sound like shattered glass. “Dear boy, the only thing worth more than the monumental liability that is Essek is a Luxon beacon, and I’m afraid those are all accounted for.”

Caleb tugged on his sleeve.

A silver eyebrow inched incrementally higher up Deirta’s forehead the longer the silence drew out between them. “Oh, you _are_ a clever boy, aren’t you? I could have you, and all of the Mighty Nein, arrested right now for withholding such information from the queen.”

“It would reflect better on you, and your den, if you remained the Nein’s stalwart patron as we delivered another beacon to the queen.”

“Or…” And her claws were back, clenching tight around Caleb’s jaw, digging angry pinprick welts into his skin. “I could rip the information from your mind, cast aside your sorry carcass, and claim that glory for my own.”

“You could certainly try,” Caleb said. “And maybe you would succeed. Maybe you get the information from me. Maybe you kill me. Maybe you kill the rest of the Nein as well. But then what? Even if you explain it away to your own queen, we would be missed by powerful allies in the Empire. And a beacon would be missed even more. You risk breaking your peace on two fronts, and if you fail in either, both would be futile. If we return the beacon instead, you retain all the glory as our patron, and if we fail…” he shrugged, “Our deaths are not on your hands.”

Deirta smiled a thin, predatory smile. “I can see why he liked you. Very will. I will not share your secret with the queen. _Yet_. But unlike Essek, I will not stay the execution of this prisoner if you take too long to return.”

“And you will support our petition for a lesser sentence?”

She spread her arms wide. “In exchange for a favor as yet unnamed.”

Caleb swallowed. 

And held out his hand.

Deirta clasped his palm in her clawed hand, the cold metal tips digging threats into his skin. “A pleasure treating with the Mighty Nein.”


	3. Terminus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return! Thanks as always everyone who left comments and kudos, it means the world to me! Here's some more political answers for you Darundik! This takes place a little under a year after the end of the first SbG chapter.
> 
> Actually got some beta readers this time aaah. Thank you to [viciousmollymaukery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viciousmollymaukery/pseuds/viciousmollymaukery) and [comradeartemis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/comradeartemis/pseuds/comradeartemis) for looking this over for me. <3 Concrit still welcome! 
> 
> German translation for Der Katzenprinz credited to [F84-5 on Reddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/criticalrole/comments/jtn4wa/spoilers_c2e115_der_katzenprinz_translated_to/)
> 
> CW: Abusive parent (largely emotional abuse, but attempts to smack their child at one point)  
> Kryn related EGtW spoilers
> 
> German Translations:  
> Und als er so sprach, setzte der Kater seinen Hut wieder auf, drehte sich im Kreis und fing an zu tanze[n]- And as he spoke, the cat donned his hat and began to turn in circles and dance.  
> Uropa (Opa)- Great-grandfather (Grandfather)  
> Entschuldigung, Spatzi. Also, wo waren wir?- I'm sorry, little sparrow. Now, where were we?  
> Hier- Here  
> Ah, ja… Der Junge schob seine Zweifel zur Seite und schaffte es aus seinem Fenster zu klettern und einige Schritte auf die Katze zuzugehen… - Ah, yes... Overcoming his doubts, the boy managed to climb down from his window and walk a few steps closer.

“...Und als er so sprach, setzte der Kater seinen Hut wieder auf, drehte sich im Kreis und fing an zu tanze-”

Essek faltered, his train of thought abruptly interrupted by a shock of Undercommon, the first he had heard in _years_ , in so long that it took him a moment to register what was being said.

_“Essek. This is your mother. We need to talk.”_

He did not answer her the first time. Nor the second. He forced himself to school his features into something pleasantly impassive as he tried to drown out her grating voice and keep reading. The third time the message repeated he sighed loudly. “ _It has been fifty years. What could we possibly have to talk about?”_

Caylee tugged on his sleeve, softly hissing “Uropaaaaa,” and jamming her stubby finger into the crease in the book open on his lap. He wasn’t sure that she truly understood what he was doing when he spoke to the air, but she was used to it. All of the children were. Great-grandpa talked to people far away, was how it had been explained to them. Important people. And it was rude to interrupt people when they were talking, even if you couldn’t see the person whom they were talking to. He hushed her, gently running his fingers over her ruddy braids, smoothing them to the back of her neck. She settled, momentarily placated. 

_“I will be travelling to the human capital in a fortnight for a meeting with the Queen. I would like to see you then.”_ Deirta sounded distracted, as if she was doing something else while casting the spell. As if this was just another afterthought, not the reunion with her son whom she had condemned to death without even a moment of hesitation.

 _“Not interested_.”

There was barely any pause between his response and her next sending. And when she spoke it was with a sort of sly authority, delivered without the gravity the words themselves carried. _“You will be, if you want to keep the little trinket that restored your husband to you.”_

Essek’s hand stalled on the back of Caylee’s head. _“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

He could _feel_ the laughter in her voice, as visceral and intimate as if she were looming just in front of him. _“You’ve never been able to lie to me, Essek. Two weeks.”_

He did not respond, and she did not send another message. Shaken, Essek kissed Caylee on the top of the head. “Entschuldigung, Spatzi. Also, wo waren wir?”

“Hier Uropa,” Caylee said, pointing confidently to a line in the book that, for one brief, horrifying moment, was completely incomprehensible to Essek. 

“Ah, ja…” he started, trying and failing to still the trembling of his hands, “Der Junge schob seine Zweifel zur Seite und schaffte es aus seinem Fenster zu klettern und einige Schritte auf die Katze zuzugehen…”

Essek said the words as if in a dream. Hundreds of times he had read this book. He hardly needed to think about it, about the little broken boy and the fairy cats. He didn’t hear Caylee speak when he finished. Didn’t hear her leave. Nor hear her mother come back into the room with her. Only when Ilvrith shook him on the arm did he flinch, gaze jerking upwards in a sudden panic. 

“Are you alright Opa?” she asked, shuffling Caylee from one hip to the other with a small huff. 

Essek blinked, but couldn’t find words to speak. He shook his head.

Ilvrith squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll tell Caleb to come home.” Always Caleb. Never grandpapa. She barely remembered him as an old man, with more silver in his hair than red, and a scruffy beard that Una had tangled her tiny fingers in and tugged on, heedless of the wordless winces each yank elicited. The man that Ilvrith herself had always begged permission to sneak sweets, because he was soft for her and could not deny her in the way Essek always did. To her the young man with the brown hair was little more than Opa's new husband. A fine addition to their little den, but a stranger, nonetheless.

\---

Essek was plied with tea and blankets and a warm orange tabby luxuriating across the narrow spread of his shoulders. Once satisfied with his nest, Caleb had nuzzled his head into Essek’s lap and slumped wearily against him. 

Essek combed his fingers through the tangles in Caleb’s hair, stroking meditative motions from his temple to the nape of his neck. Warmth and weight settled his nerves, but not the nausea lingering in his gut.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” Caleb asked, his eyes heavily lidded and his fingers stroking Essek’s bony knee that had managed to escape the confines of the pile of blankets sandwiched between them.

“No,” Essek said.

“But you’re going to do it anyway?”

Essek laughed wearily, there would be no outplaying Deirta. Especially when he did not even know what they were playing for, nor the rules of engagement. He knew better than to spurn a game to which there might be no forfeit. “She’ll make it happen regardless, better for it to be on my terms.”

Caleb wrapped his fingers around Essek’s knee and squeezed. “Do you want me to be there with you?” he asked, peering up at Essek. 

“Absolutely not," Essek said, horrified at the thought. "I want you to take everyone to Nicodranas and go play on the beach. I don’t even want you in the city when she gets here.”

Caleb stilled, his hand going slack. “Essek… are you sure?”

He shook his head. “No, but she doesn’t deserve you. She doesn’t deserve them. I don’t want her to have you.”

Caleb bullied his arms around Essek’s chest as he spoke and held him tightly with his face buried against Essek’s stomach. “I don’t want her to have you either.”

“It’s fine,” he said, doubtful that his show of false confidence was remotely convincing. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see what she wants, turn her down, tell her to leave, and we’ll never have to see her again.”

\---

Essek commissioned a new suit for the meeting with his mother. One in blinding, purest white. One he tried to have modeled after his mother’s ceremonial robes, as best as he could remember them. For the first time in his life, he wore the color without shame, as a suit of armor. The high, unforgiving silver collar lifted his chin, made him _proud_. He wore it with a platinum circlet that Caleb helped braid into his hair, opal set against his forehead like Catha in the night sky. 

It was worth it for the more than thirty seconds of shocked, incredulous staring from Deirta, before she found her words and the fake, forced smile that she greeted him with alighting his doorstep.

“Darling, it’s been so long! You look…” There was an awkward, drawn out silence as Deirta raked her judgemental gaze over his features, his clothes, his house. “...Good? Healthy?”

“You look as miserable as ever,” he grumbled.

She sniffed irritably, and oh, if that didn’t take him back. One of her many, subtle little cues to _pay attention, you’re on thin ice boy._ He found, for once, he didn’t care. “Essek,” she started, glancing meaningfully over her shoulder, “are you going to invite your mother in, or leave an Umavi out on the street to be murdered by some human vagrant?”

If only he could be so lucky. He wordlessly stepped aside, ushering her past the threshold. Deirta took three exacting steps inside and stopped once more, inspecting the wood paneled interior. 

Essek bristled under her critical gaze, which raked over the foyer, over the furniture, over the obviously, overwhelmingly Dwendalian decor. Her gaze lingered on the large scuff left on the polished wood where Caylee and Neala had gotten into a fight over which of them was the better wizard. It lingered on Frey’s plush cat, forgotten on the floor behind a side table (how had she managed to find it so quickly, when NO ONE else had been able to for over a week). Frumpkin hissed at her as he scampered past her to sit between Essek's legs, and she sneered down at the cat with such contempt that he half suspected she was going to hiss back.

“Your home is _lovely_ ,” she gushed, in such a way as to insinuate it was anything but.

Essek sighed, and pushed past her, urging her to follow, and bracing himself for more of her inevitable commentary at the cost of his pride. She murmured something that he didn't catch under her breath, and he didn't give her the pleasure of asking her to repeat it.

She hadn’t liked his towers in Rosohna either, he had to remind himself. This wasn't just because of Rexxentrum. He doubted she would approve of any home that didn’t have her name written on the deed. 

The sharp tack of Deirta’s heels stopped abruptly halfway down the hall. When Essek turned, she was staring up at the large painting mounted on the wall. He had had it commissioned a few months after Caleb returned, for their fiftieth anniversary. Caleb had worried that it wouldn’t really count, having been gone for nearly half that time, but Essek had been so desperately relieved to have him back, that he’d wanted to celebrate anyway, technicalities be damned. 

His stomach lurched at the thought of her judgmental gaze tarnishing the memory,

“This is quite the portrait, who all do we have here?”

Essek was tempted not to tell her, but if she knew about the beacon, she probably knew every single distant relation he had managed to acquire, and blowing her off would just put her in a foul mood. He reluctantly returned to stand beside her facing the portrait, pushing himself up just a little higher in the air on impulse. 

“Well,” he said, staring straight ahead, “I know you never actually _saw_ me smile, but I’d hope you could at least figure that one out,” he muttered, indulging in a petty, useless barb which she did not rise to. “This is my husband, Caleb. Our son, Gwylyss and his wife Tamara.”

“You could have at least had the decency to name him after your father.” Deirta said, clicking her tongue. 

A thump against Essek's leg distracted him from a cutting retort. Frumpkin peered up at him, his eyes glowing blue. Then he blinked and they were amber once more. He meowed.

Essek cleared his throat. “Gwylyss’s two daughters, Ilvrith with her husband Mihael, and Una and her wife Frigga, Una’s holding her daughter Frey. Below them are Ilvrith’s children Essek, Neala and Caylee. The cat is Frumpkin, whom you've already had the pleasure of meeting."

Deirta sighed, a poor impression of melancholy, and ran her pristinely manicured fingers over the gilded frame, as if searching it for chips. “It’s really quite tragic, isn’t it? How short their little lives are? You’ve not even been married a century, and you have _great_ grandchildren?”

“Not as sad as that being your only take away from my family’s portrait,” Essek said through gritted teeth.

Deirta laughed humorlessly and turned to face him, “The queen has caught wind that your human lover has come out of retirement to return to work at the Assembly, and most peculiarly, bears no resemblance to the man who went into retirement twenty years ago. If this portrait is an accurate likeness, I’d have to say I agree with her.”

Essek busied himself plucking Frumpkin up off the floor, if only to grant himself brief moments to school his features into something not revealing the blinding panic that was rapidly setting in. “He is a transmutation wizard. He can alter his appearance.”

“That does not make him immortal.”

“There are spells that can.”

“There are relics that can as well,” she pressed. 

“What do you _want_ , Deirta?”

“For one, I’m terribly curious when you became a _cleric_ , and of the _Luxon_ no less,” she said, tugging at the small dodecahedron hanging around his neck, and the chain carved unforgivingly into his nape. Frumpkin batted at her hand, his claws out, and she glared down at him as she yanked her hand away.

Essek tucked the token under his blouse with a defensive scowl. The cold metal bit, warning and sharp against his skin. He had done it selfishly, not out of some sudden awakening of faith like she no doubt hoped. The Luxon had refused to teach him the consecution ritual without the commitment. And he had refused to let Caleb die. 

“You will cause a war if you continue consecuting Imperial politicians, Essek. The queen needs little excuse to mistrust her neighbors these days, and you are giving it to her.”

Essek scoffed. “And you thought to warn me out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I’m not warning you, my dear. I’m offering you an opportunity.”

“An opportunity for what?”

Deirta pressed a finger into his sternum, and pushed, just hard enough that he had to exert his will upon his magic to keep from drifting away. She stared Frumpkin down as she moved, as if daring him to defy her once more. The cat pinned his ears with a low growl. “The chance to keep your beacon,” she said, just loud enough to fill the space between them. “And your consecuted husband, and your little school of dunamancy.”

“In exchange for?”

“Lasting peace, Essek.”

That was not the answer he had been expecting. On its face too noble, too selfless that it must have some ulterior motive. Essek frowned, but found himself too proud to ask for clarification. 

“The queen’s health has taken a turn for the worse, Essek. Her mind is addled. She is not fit to lead our people.” There was a strange edge to Deirta's tone, like there was more to the story which she was neglecting to share with him. Whether about Leylas's health, or something else, he wasn't sure.

“I fail to see how that has anything to do with me,” Essek said, already fearing the answer.

“It would be a terrible loss, if she were to die outside the reach of a beacon. Don’t you agree?”

Essek had waited his entire, admittedly short, life to level his mother’s _contempt_ back at her for once. “This is _rich_ coming from you. How does treason taste, Deirta?”

She huffed, squaring her shoulders. “A queen cannot commit treason against herself, Essek, Son of Deirta, first Queen of the Thelyss Dynasty,” she said gravely.

“My den-name is Widogast, no thanks to you.”

“Imagine what a union between our two countries could achieve?” she pressed, not taking the bait. “Imagine what knowledge we could share and gain. Imagine peace for as many years as two consecuted crowns reign. This is what I am offering.”

“A crown paid for in blood,” Essek snapped.

“It would be a heavy burden, but better than war, yes? I would hate for those precious babies to have to grow up in a word without their beloved great-grandfather in it.”

“You tried to have me killed once, if you’ll recall. It didn’t stick.”

“I wasn’t referring to you, Essek,” Deirta said, voice low and grave. “Do you really think Leylas will let him live? An unsanctioned consecution of an Empire pawn? A human one at that? He is an abomination in her eyes,” she paused, stepping closer. “I know what it feels like to have my husband _murdered_ , Essek. It is not a pleasant experience.”

Essek jabbed a finger towards the door. “I will not have you come into my home and threaten my family, Deirta. Leave. Now.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m not _threatening_ you,” she laughed, and the sound made his skin crawl, “I’m telling you what direction the wind is blowing. And I’m offering you a port in the storm.”

“What do you _want_ from me Deirta? A trade commitment? Political support for your coup? You would do better negotiating with the queen. I’m a _teacher.”_

She patted him on the shoulder, and he felt like a child under the heavy weight of her judgemental grip. “I plan to, my dear, don’t you worry. No, I need the skills of a man who doesn’t exist. Who spares no love for an incompetent, failing queen.”

“You want me to _assassinate_ Leylas Kryn.”

“Now, don’t be boorish!” Deirta said with a scandalized gasp, “I raised you better than that. I simply want you to use your skills to ensure that she doesn’t die within the perimeter of a beacon.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?"

“Sweetheart, you’re the criminal mastermind, not me. How did you smuggle those beacons out of Rosohna?”

Essek could hear the grinding of his teeth echoing inside his skull, and willed his jaw to unclench. Frumpkin kneaded his paws against Essek’s arm. “I was the head of Xhorhasian intelligence when I did that, if you recall. My resources are significantly more limited now.”

Deirta rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Even if you’re not clandestinely involved with Dwendalian intelligence, which I don’t believe for an instant, I _know_ you have friends who are.”

“So you’re asking for clandestine support to assassinate the queen of another country.”

“Those are your words, darling. Not mine.”

“And what if I can’t? What if I’m just some boring, irrelevant professor who, shockingly, isn’t looking to dabble in wetwork on the side?”

Deirta shrugged, the slightest delicate heave of her shoulders that he would have missed had he not been expecting it. “Then a dangerous woman stays in power, and I will pray to the Light for you and your family.”

Impulsive and irate under her ceaseless prodding, Essek dropped Frumpkin to the floor so that he could square every inch of himself up in her opposition. Rather than hiss and run off like he often did, Frumpkin sat at Essek’s side, glaring up at her with him. “You really are something, you know that?”

“Hm, and how is that, darling?”

“You would gamble your entire family, your entire _country_ on the bet that I _won’t_ gamble mine.”

“That’s because I made you, Essek. I _know_ you.”

“You _ruined_ me!” Essek snarled in a flash of impulsive rage. His voice echoed around them for a few long, tense seconds while she stared at him, mouth agape. 

Essek saw her arm moving to strike him before she had even lifted it above her waist, and he snatched up her open palm with grim satisfaction. “You listen to me. And you listen well. I am not doing your dirty work for you. If you want to commit the sins of heresy and treason, you come down to my level and commit them your own damn self. I am not your pawn anymore.”

“Oh Essek,” she crooned, her hand shifting in his grip and her fingers brushing feather light against his cheek. Essek jerked his face away with a grimace. “You’re such a strong young man. I knew you were destined for great things. And now look at you. You have done your den proud, sweetheart.”

“I think Caleb would agree with you,” he said icily. 

“You know, as queen, I could officially pardon you. I could restore your den status. I would love for the world to see you as the amazing son that I see you as.”

Essek _hated_ that his first thought was how much easier that would make seeing Verin. That the kids could visit their uncle and their cousins in Xhorhas for the first time in their lives. 

He must have taken too long to respond, because Deirta gently pried her hand from his grip and caressed his cheek with a tenderness that made his stomach churn. “Oh, my boy. How I’ve missed you,” she said softly, her other hand settling on his chest. “You know, I never wanted to hurt you. You have a family now. You understand. Sometimes we have to make awful decisions to protect the ones we love.”

“I didn’t count among those you loved, then?” Essek asked, and he felt so small. Felt like a child as the words croaked out from a too tight throat. 

“Oh, Essek. Sweetie. I do. I love you so, _so_ much. But I know my children. I knew you were strong. And look at you now. Look what you’ve become.”

Essek squeezed closed his eyes, willing himself not to break down in front of his mother. Wished so desperately she spoke with even an ounce of genuine conviction. “You want the world to see how much you love me?” he asked, a tremor in his voice.

Deirta’s other hand settled on his jaw like a vice. “I do, baby. So much.”

He forced himself to open his eyes. “Then prove it. Do it. Become queen. Restore me, and my family.”

“I will, sweetheart,” she said, rubbing her thumb over his cheek. “Just as soon as you do this one little thing for me.”

Essek pulled away, shaking his head. “No. You love me, you do this for me. I’m not doing it for you.”

A wall of ice shuttered down around them and Essek felt like a boy with broken legs, again crippled under his mother’s silent, burning wrath. Felt like she was once again leading him to the slaughter. Her last goodbye a sharp crack across his broken, bloodied face. A half century of silence only to ask him to sin again for the sake of her pride.

“Oh, Essek,” she said, a dangerous edge to her voice. “You’re going to regret making an enemy out of me.”

“Wanting you to love me unconditionally isn’t making an enemy of you, _mom.”_

Deirta wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Tell your little human I’m calling in my favor,” she said, and turned on her heels to sweep out of his home. The echo of his front door thudded in his chest until he couldn’t tell whether it was that or his frantic heartbeat that deafened him. 

Essek stumbled to the nearest vase and vomited in it. 

\---

“What favor do you owe my mother?” Essek demanded, not letting Caleb get farther than the coat closet, arms outstretched with his jacket hanging limp in his hands. He stood there, frozen, staring at Essek with a look of blank confusion on his face.“...what?”

“Tell me, Caleb. What favor do you owe Deirta Thelyss?” 

“I don’t—” Caleb frowned in thought. Essek could see the precise moment when he remembered, everything in his expression falling by desolate increments.

“Tell me,” he demanded. 

“Nothing!” Caleb said, completing his aborted quest to hang his coat in the closet. “I mean, it wasn’t anything specific. She just said she would call in a favor later.” He turned to face Essek properly. His skin was burned, and his hair frizzy from salt, and for some reason, that only exacerbated Essek’s indignation.

Essek ran his fingers through his hair, pacing restlessly. “How could you _do_ that! And not tell me!”

“Essek,” Caleb said, holding out his hands in an attempt at placation that Essek resolutely scorned. “That was _years_ ago. I was trying to get you out of Rosohna. I kind of forgot about it, honestly. She hasn’t said a thing about it since, what does she want?”

“ _You_ forgot?” Essek sneered, “I don’t believe that.”

“I was a little preoccupied with saving your life, Essek!” 

Essek snarled in frustration. Caleb watched him pace with an unreadable expression on his face. 

No, it wasn’t unreadable. Essek _knew_ Caleb’s expressions. He could paint the lines of his face in his sleep.

He just didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to see the hurt, and the concern, and the _fear_.

He wanted to hide. He wanted to crawl under his covers and wallow.

He didn’t want to be understood, to be seen.

“Essek,” Caleb said with heartbreaking, maddening _sympathy_ as he took a cautious step towards him. “What does she want?” 

“Nothing.” Nothing he could admit to Caleb. Nothing he could draw Caleb into. Nothing Caleb deserved to be burdened with.

“Essek—”

Essek left. On his own two legs, if only for the petty satisfaction of being able to storm away and slam the door behind him.

Once he was outside he teleported away.

Kind of.

Rather, he teleported to the roof, and slumped with his face buried between his knees against the platform upon which his armilla was mounted. He’d regret it later, when the aches and the cramping came, but he was too weary to care. 

The shadows had begun to inch their way across the cobbled patio when a little orange cat slunk out from behind the armillary stand and bumped up against his leg, meowing softly. Essek looked down, drawn to a flash in the corner of his eye. Frumpkin’s eyes shone a luminous blue, staring up at him, deep and unfathomable. He wordlessly scooped the cat into his lap and held him there. Frumpkin purred in the silence that followed.

“She wants me to murder the Bright Queen,” Essek whispered, not really caring if Caleb didn’t happen to hear his confession. 

Frumpkin went still in his lap.

“She says it’ll…” he grimaced, the words bitter on his tongue, “It’ll be good. For both countries. There will be war if I don’t.”

Frumpkin butted his head up against Essek’s hand.

“You’ll be hurt if I don’t.”

Frumpkin turned to him and yowled loudly. Then poofed out of existence. 

Essek didn’t have the heart to follow, even though he could see the demand for what it was. He lingered on the roof, watching the colors of the sky shift from blinding white to gold to its proper violet. When his body was aching and cold, he finally made his way back downstairs. 

Caleb wordlessly wrapped him in his arms and they stood, swaying together in the middle of the hallway while Essek’s limbs thawed in a wash of painful needles. “Will you please talk to me?” Caleb asked softly. 

“I hate her. I really, really hate her.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.” Essek pulled away, rubbing his hands over his arms in a bid to warm them faster. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not. Not having an existential crisis over something that happened fifty years ago.”

Caleb frowned, “Essek, I’m not a child.”

“No, I know. But—”

“No, no buts. We’re beyond that.”

Essek scowled up at him, unable to bear another blow to his already wounded pride. “Caleb, you’re _always_ taking care of me. Excuse me if I’d like to return the favor for once.”

Caleb leveled him with a look of exasperation, his arms crossed over his chest and Frumpkin squinting up at Essek from between his feet. He opened his mouth to speak twice before any words actually came out. “Fine. Then what’s the plan?”

“Excuse me?”

“The plan. You say I’m in danger. That you’re going to take care of me. What are you going to do?”

Essek frowned. He hadn’t gotten that far. It must have shown on his face, because Caleb laughed, the noise making Essek bristle defensively no matter how innocent Caleb’s intention. He shook his head and propped his fists on his hips. “I have your back, Essek. I want to help, it’s not a contest.”

He selfishly wanted it to be a contest, wanted to be vindicated. He felt like this was a game he might actually win, unlike his mothers artifice, wrapped up in a shroud of feigned patriotism and familial concern against which he had little to argue. “I will speak to the Luxon,” he said. “And see if they have any guidance.”

Caleb nodded. “Keep me updated.”

\---

_The Luxon comes to him wearing the face of a young man with brown hair and brown eyes, and a round, forgettable face. The most beautiful face in the world. When the Luxon smiles at him, their smile is missing a tooth. “It has been some time, Essek. We thought you had tired of us.”_

_They are joking. Or trying to. Over the years they have pushed and pulled back and forth on the yoke of humanity that they saddle themselves with for his benefit. Sometimes it seemed to wear on them. Others, like now, they seemed keen to dissect what, exactly, it is that made their mannerisms more or less lifelike._

_It is awkward, peculiar and alien, but the wax and wane of their interest seems to Essek to be the most human of their efforts._

_“I need your help.”_

_They approach him soundlessly through the endless white expanse, small starbursts erupting and dying out with each step of Caleb’s feet. “You have been busy since we last spoke. What is it we can aid you with?”_

_“It is… I need guidance.”_

_“You do not need to come to this place to seek our guidance. You know this.”_

_“No, but...” He feels foolish speaking to the air. Praying to nothing. Whether the Luxon hears him or not seems a moot point when there is no way to know for certain. He would rather look a god in the face if he is to parlay with it. He does not see divinity in the world. In magic. Miracles do nothing for a man without faith._

_With his soul bared in the beacon, and an unfathomable light staring back at him with deep brown eyes, he can believe he is heard._

_“But?” They prompt._

_“I have a question of morality.”_

_The Luxon wrinkles Caleb’s nose in an expression that looks more like something Essek would do than Caleb, though he is reluctant to admit that he has made the face with any frequency in their presence. “These are not matters of which we take particular interest, but we will indulge you.”_

_“I am being asked to murder a consecuted soul. So that it might not return.”_

_“You were granted the power to do that long ago,” the Luxon points out blandly._

_“Yes, but not the permission.”_

_“You seek permission to snuff out a life?”_

_“I… suppose so, yes?” It sounds so petty, laid out in plain words, but he is unable to argue. He does not want to kill, but if a fraction of his mother’s warning is true, he understands the urgency. And, reluctantly, his own qualification for the job. If someone, some_ thing _greater than himself can agree that his decision is just, that he has some moral ground to stand upon, then perhaps he can find it within himself to add regicide to his ledger of sins._

_“That permission is not ours to grant. We do not seek to impose our will upon fate.”_

_Essek scoffs incredulously. “You have made plenty of demands of me.”_

_“Of you, yes.” They nod in agreement, “That is between you, and us, and we have never made demands nor ultimatums with which you were forced to comply. Nor was the potentiality of another soul involved.”_

_“But you seek consecution,” he argues._

_“Correct.”_

_“This would be destroying that.”_

_“Indeed.”_

_“So, it’s wrong.” It’s not a question. (It never was a question)._

_“Morality is a mortal concept to which we do not ascribe.”_

_“Please,” Essek pleads, desperate for once in his life, for guidance, “please, what am I supposed to do? If I do not do this, thousands could die. If I don’t, my family could be destroyed.”_

_The Luxon holds up a single finger, “Could. In both circumstances. The power of choice is at once both awful and aweful, Essek. You know this better than most. Look upon the starmap of your soul.” The Luxon gestures wide around them, to the multitude shimmering web that disappears into infinity and in that moment they are both dwarfed by the potential of it, the Luxon exactly the same and yet somehow lessened. “Are there two branches?”_

_“No…”_

_“Then there are not only two choices. We cannot give you a simple answer, for there is no simple answer to give. What choice you make is yours alone. We will not absolve you of responsibility.”_

_“Then what good are you!” Essek snarls in frustration, his anger made manifest in ribbons of plasma cutting the space between them._

_“You have a family_ to _lose, Essek.” The reminder is as gentle as a river, quiet at the surface with a violent, dark undertow threatening to pull him under. The plasma of his rage fizzles out in the face of the blinding, unfathomable power bound beneath Caleb’s skin._

_Essek grumbles in frustration, a deep rumble that could move the plates of the world, cause great waves of snow and water and sand. Yet in so vast a space, in the face of so vast an entity, it is like the impact is swallowed by the dark, fathomless eyes boring into him. The Luxon stares on, as impassive as ever._

_“You have never been a man of blind faith, Essek. Do not start now. You have tools at your disposal. Logic. Intellect. Community. Use them.”_

_Essek has never, in all his years, been ejected from the beacon. The Luxon never forces the end of a conversation. Yet all of their power is like a vacuum that sucks the air from his lungs and the motivation from his spleen, and he knows that the conversation is over, whether he wants it to be or not._

\---

Even though neither he nor Caleb ever got around to submitting a report of his meeting with Deirta, later in the week, they were summoned to an audience with Irene, Queen of the Dwendalian Empire. 

Without preamble, she gave him _her_ blessing. _Her_ absolution. And he couldn’t help but think, what worth was the permission of a queen when he was denied the permission of a god?

His stomach roiled at her commendation, her approval. Her eagerness to treat with the more internationally minded Den Thelyss after being stonewalled so long by the Kryn. Eager for trade. Eager for travel. Eager for understanding. All with the unspoken understanding that Deirta Thelyss had volunteered her son to commit regicide. A black sheep to shoulder the sins of the people more pure and more innocent than he was. He wondered if Irene thought to question the charge. Whether Deirta had spoken her honeyed words and spun a tale in which he had volunteered for the task, noble and self sacrificing. 

He was unpracticed, after so long away from court, and stood numbly next to Caleb while his husband navigated the delicate labyrinth of peeling away what was expected of them, explicitly, and implicitly. 

No date was given, only the ominous promise of troop movements sighted across the Ashkeepers looming on the horizon should he fail in his gambit. They had gone fifty years without war with the Dynasty, no longer. Because of him. His beacon. And Leylas’s dogged obsession with it. 

Irene didn’t say it, but he heard it anyway. The fate of two nations rested in his palms, whether he wanted the burden or not. 

“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice raw with nerves, “What you ask of me may not be possible.”

“Possibility is your trade, is it not, professor? I have every faith that if anyone can find a way, it is you.”

She dismissed them with a flick of her wrist, and Essek was left with his mouth hanging open, further protestations snuffed out before they could be voiced. 

\---

Caleb promised they would find another solution. That there was no rush. He would speak with the queen, the Assembly, the Trust, he would find a way. Essek nodded, and played along. Voiced his skeptical acceptance of the bureaucratic process. A little, doubtful voice in the back of his mind dug her nails into him like claws and whispered _those poor babies, growing up without their beloved great-grandfather_. 

Since Caleb returned to him, Essek had not lied to him once. Not in any way that mattered. The hollow loneliness of losing him, and waiting and _knowing_ he was out there, somewhere, Essek just hadn’t felt like it was worth it when this precious thing was finally restored to him.

Three days after his audience with the queen, Essek lied to Caleb.

It was cruel. It was unfair. It was wrong, and he was sick with nerves for doing it.

But he lied anyway. He said he was going to bed.

Not that he was going to be sneaking into a demiplane he had created for just this one use. Just this one time. Not that he was going to be staring at one of the biggest diamonds he had ever held in his hands. Nor that he was going to have to repeat his casting three times before the shaking of his hands and his voice was schooled into something the aether recognized as spellcraft. 

Not that when the diamond shattered between his fingers, and floated before him to form the softly glowing outline of a door, that he was going to whisper, so softly, the name Leylas Kryn. 

The queen of the Kryn Dynasty collapsed in a heap at his feet, almost unrecognizable with her hair in a long, neat braid and her figure slight under a loose, gossamer nightgown. She awoke with a start and a snarl, blinking in wide-eyed confusion at the featureless room. At him.

“What is the meaning of this!” She demanded, struggling to push herself to rights in the sea of loose fabric tangling around her legs. 

Essek swallowed. He should just do it. Just get it over with. He shouldn’t look at her bare face, suspicious and confused. At the way a lock of hair had loosened from her braid like a crack in her perfect veneer. In the way she stared at him, but did not see him.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” He asked, against his better judgement, knowing full well every second he hesitated would make it harder to commit. 

Leylas pulled free a knife she had lashed to her calf and brandished it in his direction as she struggled to her feet on legs still unsteady and sluggish from sleep. “You are a dead man if you don’t stand aside.”

“That door leads to Rexxentrum. You will find no friends there, Leylas.”

Something in his words sparked a flash of recognition and her ire turned to black fury, “Oh. You are that professor, aren’t you? _Anticleric_. Consecuting those who serve my enemies. Where did you find my beacon!” 

“You really don’t recognize me?” 

She didn’t. Arm extended in warning with her knife held at the ready, Leylas glared at him without comprehension. His heart sank. For all of his misgivings, he had imagined seeing recognition in her eyes, seeing betrayal and disappointment. Somehow, the dazed rage was worse. “I asked you a question, boy! The beacons belong to _me_ . They are _mine_. Where did you get one?” 

Essek tried to open his mouth, to speak words of harm, of pain, of damage. But nothing came out. He tried to coax his fingers into weaving spells to bind, to bend, to destroy. But they clenched stubbornly into fists.

He couldn’t do this.

Leylas lurched towards him with a snarl, arm slashing in a wide clumsy arc. It was little more than a sidestep to get out of her way, and she stumbled in his wake, losing her footing. In his knee jerk attempt to avoid her, she was left with a clear shot of the door, and was a split second faster than him in reaching it.

Leylas tumbled out into his bedroom, with Essek close behind her. She faltered, blinking owlishly as she took in the scenery. “This is not my home.”

Essek held his hands out between them as if he were calming a frightened beast, “Leylas, I _told_ you this isn’t Rosohna. Please, you need to get back in there, _now_.”

She turned on him, nostrils flared in fury. “You will die for this insolence,” she declared, throwing herself at him. Essek threw up his arms to cover his face, and with them a shield. Her knife skidded off of the protective barrier.  
  
“CALEB! I NEED HELP!”

She snarled in frustration, bludgeoning the shield with blow after blow of her knife until it collapsed, and he was a split second too slow in throwing it back up. Her knife dug into flesh just above his collarbone and he cried out in pain. 

“Tell me where my beacon is or I’ll slit your throat,” Leylas hissed, jostling the knife in the wound. Essek whimpered, gripping her by the forearms and willing her mass to lessen so that he had even the slightest chance at bullying her bulk back through the door. 

Caleb blasted her across the room as he stumbled up the stairs, her knife ripping a jagged seam in the meat of Essek's shoulder. She slammed hard against a bookshelf and slumped at its base, a waterfall of tomes cascading down upon her. 

Essek pressed a trembling hand to his shoulder and muttered a word of healing, just enough to stem the bleeding. Caleb scrambled over to him, but Essek shook his head, pushing Caleb away. “Get her through the door. We need to get her through the door _now_.”

In the time it took them to turn to her, Leylas was clambering back to her feet. A smear of Essek’s blood painting the front of her gown and dripping from her knife onto the heap of books at her feet. She bared her teeth at Caleb and lunged. Both he and Essek cast at the same moment, and Leylas’s form went both rigid and weightless at once. 

Caleb grabbed her, and Essek swung open the door. Together they shoved her, spitting and snarling, back into the demiplane. Essek dispelled the gate as soon as the door was closed, and sunk wearily to the floor.

Caleb knelt next to him, his hands immediately reaching for the half-healed wound on Essek’s shoulder. “Essek, are you okay? Who was that?” 

“I fucked up.” Essek winced as Caleb’s fingers prodded a little too forcefully at the tender flesh. 

“Wh- How? What happened?” He had no idea, Essek realized. No idea what he had been doing. The realization filled him with shame. _He thinks better of you_.

Essek rubbed at his face in reflex, realizing too late that his hands were covered in blood that he smeared wet and hot over his brows. “I didn’t go to bed.”

“Well, yeah. I gathered that much,” Caleb said, sitting back when he was satisfied Essek’s wound was no longer oozing.

“I kidnapped Leylas,” Essek whispered, as if they could somehow be overheard. Panic replacing shame and disappointment in a rapid realization of the implications of his failure. “I was planning on killing her, but I couldn’t do it. And now she’s just _there_. I can’t send her back, it’s too late.” He laughed hysterically. “I can’t send her back and I can’t kill her and I don’t know what to do.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I know! I _know!_ What was I thinking!” 

“Essek…” Caleb bit his lip, fussed restlessly at the cuff of his shirt like he did when he was fighting the urge to scratch. “ _Essek_.”

“I know!”

“Well. Um. Shit.”

“I know!” 

“Okay, okay. Well. We have… We have options. Realistically, how long until she’s noticed?”

Essek laughed again, and found he couldn’t stop the nervous upwelling of emotion, until he couldn’t really tell if he was still laughing, or it had spilled over into sobs at some point. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine the Dusk Captain is a particularly sound sleeper. There’s no reason to think it hasn’t already happened.”

“Right. Okay. This is what we’re going to do. You see if you can scry on anyone in the Dynasty, see if anyone knows yet. I will contact the queen. We’ll go from there.”

Essek nodded dejectedly, “I’m so sorry.”

Caleb squeezed his shoulder as he pushed himself to his feet. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, offering Essek his hand. Their hands, clutched together as Caleb hoisted him to his feet, were both painted in Essek’s blood. Essek thought it was appropriate.

\---

 _“Mother. Are you awake?”_ Essek sent, digging frantically through a trunk in search of his scrying mirror.

There was a long enough pause between the end of his message and any reply that Essek was beginning to suspect that she was not. _“Essek! So good to hear from you, darling. I pray you bring me good news?”_

With a frustrated grumble, he dumped the trunk over, spilling its contents onto the rug so that he could sift through them more efficiently. _“How soon can you get to Rexxentrum?”_

 _“...Essek,”_ she sounded exasperated, _“It’s the middle of the night.”_

_“If you want your project dealt with, you had better come, or you’ll find it somewhere very detrimental to the politicking of your den.”_

Another long pause. _“Oh darling. If you missed me, you only had to say so. Shall I meet you at your home? Say, in a half an hour?”_

Essek found his mirror and pushed himself back to his feet, hurrying downstairs to find Caleb. _“Be here promptly, Deirta.”_

She didn’t respond. 

\---

The blinding silver threads of potential shot out before his mind’s eye, blazing tendrils snaking across the fields, and the mountains, and the deadlands that spanned the distance between Rexxentrum and Rosohna. Through the gilded halls of the Lucid Bastion. Past doors he had never, not even as Shadowhand, been permitted to tread beyond. Settled over a grand bed hewn of vermaloc, the filaments wrapping hungrily around the four posters like mercury in the dim light.

Quana was there, the set of her broad shoulders lessened by the soft ruching of a lavender nightgown, softly snoring. She had yet to stir. 

A sharp knuckled rapping upon their front door caused Essek to jump, and Frumpkin to go scampering off in search of the new arrival, meowing loudly. He cut the spell off as abruptly as he began it, tossing his scrying mirror onto a nearby table with a shudder of disgust.

Essek had to pass Caleb by on his way to the vestibule, and was offered an apologetic smile and the tapping of a finger against Caleb’s temple in acknowledgement of not having beaten Essek to the door. 

Deirta stood at his step, dressed in clothes that would seem fine and indulgent on nearly anyone else, but which Essek could see were selected for their expediency. Her bearing elevated by jewelry rather than the layers upon layers of intricate chemises and tunics and boleros that she preferred. She smiled broadly, her teeth gleaming white as bone as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him once on each cheek. Her lips were like ice. “My darling boy, it’s so good to see you.”

“Come in, Deirta.” 

“Is it done? Have you given me the greatest gift a mother could ask for?” There was warmth, and hope, and adoration in her voice that made something small and ugly twist in his chest, that made him want to crawl into a corner and wrap his arms around himself. That made him, shamefully, wish to hear more of her praise.

“I have Leylas trapped, but she is not dead.”

The warmth was stolen away in a ponderous, calculated sigh as Deirta’s affectionate smile fell into a disappointed frown. “Why ever not?”

He could hear the grit of her teeth and see the tense set of her jaw. Her nose twitched in the ghost of a sneer before she managed to school her expression back into an ominous smile. “Well, all is not lost. Yet. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything more. You have been living… _intimately_ with humans for some time now, haven’t you? It is not surprising your edge has dulled.”

“Caleb is contacting the queen as we speak. We will know more soon.”

“Of course,” she said, taking the initiative to breeze past him into the entrance hall with far more proprietary authority than a woman who had seen nothing beyond the threshold of his home had any right to. “Where is your darling husband now?” She asked over her shoulder. “Ah! Nevermind, I seem to have found him.”

Essek clenched his teeth and his fists as she sauntered into Caleb’s office and offered him a forked tongued greeting of insincere affection.

\---

Essek, Caleb, and Deirta were granted clearance to teleport directly to the castle, and had nearly done so when he realized both he and Caleb were still covered in blood. A quick prestidigitation had them both more or less presentable, but he lamented that he had no time to change out of his torn shirt. When they arrived at the castle, they were herded into an office to which Essek had never been before. Irene and a handful of guards were already present. 

“Tell me what happened,” Irene demanded. She was a soft spoken woman, slow to anger, and slower still to settle upon a decision. She spoke with a harried conviction that left Essek feeling almost as ill at ease as his mother lingering too close to his side. 

“Leylas Kryn is secured in an extradimensional cell,” Essek said, wetting his lips. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t kill her.”

Irene nodded, if not in understanding than at least in acceptance. “How long can she stay there?”

“Indefinitely,” Essek said, “From a spellcasting point of view. But it will not be long before her-” he faltered, “-her abduction is discovered.” 

“I need two things from you to secure the crown,” Deirta interjected, addressing the queen directly with an audacity that bordered on recklessness. “I need assurances that Leylas’s soul will not return, under any circumstances. And I need a public declaration of explicit, comprehensive support from the Dwendalian crown, as soon as possible.”

“Essek,” Irene said, meeting Deirta’s demands with nothing more than a curt nod. “What needs to be done to ensure Leylas does not return?”

“She needs to die outside the range of a beacon, and her body needs to be unrecoverable,” Essek said, dismayed at the group’s casual acceptance of the murder of a functionally harmless woman. And even more dismayed that he was so affected by their indifference. 

“Would this extradimensional cell suffice?” Irene asked. She was no wizard, but she was clever and quick, and it took little for her to put the pieces of his original plan together.

“Yes, it should, Your Majesty.”

“Umavi Thelyss, how soon will you be ready to move?”

Deirta’s hand settled onto Essek’s shoulder, her fingers digging brutally into his half-healed wound and stealing the breath from him. “I have been awaiting this momentous day. I move at your leisure.”

“Very well. Essek. Are you able to take us there?”

Essek shook his head. “I do not have spell slot required. I can do it in the morning.” That was, if he actually had time to go home and rest. He tried not to think about where Deirta would stay if that unfortunate fate befell him.

“I would rather deal with this sooner than later.” Irene leaned over to one of her guards, “Aldwin, contact the Assembly, see who is available to assist.” 

“She’s armed,” Essek warned. “It’s a small knife, but you should be aware of it.”

Irene nodded once more, and the group settled into an uneasy planning huddle while the guard, Aldwin, breezed from the room to find another wizard. Four more guards were brought to the room while they waited, in anticipation of whatever they expected to find on the other side of the gateway. 

Caleb’s expression was stormy, and grew darker whenever other Assembly members were mentioned. He had not yet been given clearance to return to active duty. Not until he had proven he was capable of casting everything in his spellbook. Twenty years of stagnation had left him unpracticed and unreliable. Functionally useless. 

Not that Essek was any better, who could not kill a helpless woman even with the wealth of his powers at his disposal. 

\---

Nearly a half an hour later, the guard returned, with Astrid at his heels. Her silvered hair and her deep blue gown were both styled to perfection, and she was, so far as he could tell, the only one in the room wearing makeup. Essek suspected that she must have glamoured herself, else the virago had never actually gone to bed.

“I am at your leisure, Your Majesty,” She said, bowing deeply. Her gaze raked critically over Essek, and lingered long and hard on Caleb. 

Irene held out her hand, and Astrid took it, shaking it firmly. “Thank you, Astrid. Have you been apprised?” 

She tore her gaze away from Caleb to address the queen once more. “Only that my services were required for accessing an extradimensional space?” She held up a handful of scrolls, “I wasn't certain what you required, Your Majesty, so I came prepared. Are we trying to access a Demiplane?"

Irene looked to Essek for confirmation. He nodded reluctantly. 

Astrid cast the spell to unlock his cage. Irene, Deirta, and the handful of guards all disappeared inside, leaving only the three wizards alone in the room, guarding the gate and waiting for whatever fate befell the woman trapped inside. 

A soft huff from Astrid marked the moment Caleb and Essek’s fingers intertwined, a silent display of solidarity. “How are you?” Caleb asked with his nose buried in the fine hair at Essek’s temple.

“I made my choice,” Essek said gravely. “It’s their turn to make theirs.”

\---

It was two months between the private execution of Queen Leylas Kryn and the public coronation of Dynast Deirta Thelyss. Essek thought it strange, knowing the turmoil that must have endured during the interim, but being privy to none of it. Knew there were things that must have happened, people who must have been detained. Or worse. He didn't ask questions. He didn't want to be involved. 

Rosohna was a stain on his soul that he never thought to return to. Least of all in support of his mother's ambition. _I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it,_ he could hear her whisper in his mind, _you come and you go from my halls at my leisure._ Everything spiraled back to her. Even when he thought himself autonomous, liberated from her plans and her schemes with painful, hardwon suffering, she found a way to dig her talons into his back and ensnare him in her web.

Verin and his wife stood at Essek's left, and Caleb at his right, with Essek a shining beacon of white between them. He wasn't sure why he made the impulsive decision to balk in the face of tradition, other than to see the subtle crack in Deirta's veneer when her wide-reaching gaze fell upon him, too preoccupied with accepting a stolen crown to punish his defiance. 

A handful of Dwendalian representatives stood across from him, stony faced and clad in red and blue as a stark contrast to the sea of black surrounding them. Stalwart representatives of the nascent queen's dedication to international cooperation.

The sun seemed somehow brighter, bleaching the steps of the Lucid Bastion. As if the star to which he had spent so long acclimating had been snuffed out, exchanged for another, cold and unforgiving to embody the hollow victory stood before him in the form of his mother knelt low before the Skysybil to accept a tri-horned crown.

He wondered at the Luxon, whose beacon Deirta held aloft, shining dull and lifeless above her head. Wondered what they would say, to bear witness so such a perversion of their light. Wondered at what point the web of potential and the web of corruption tangled so inexorably as to be indistinguishable. 

He wondered when it happened, that he had the audacity to say he understood the Luxon better than the clerics of their church, who spent millenia in their service and their light. When he had the audacity to claim white for his own and wear his allegiance on his sleeve. 

He wondered how a woman could be so terrible a mother and yet so masterful a queen. To give the people a chance at what they so desperately deserved. Peace. 

Essek wondered if this was what Caleb had felt like, so many years ago, tearing a warpath through the ugly things and the broken parts of the Empire. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, in the moment his mother handed the beacon back to the Skysybil and the crowd erupted as one in triumph, that if she squandered this fragile, singular opportunity, he would raze her court to the ground.

It was what his family deserved. It was what the people deserved.


End file.
